rising from the ground
by The Next-Gen Fanatics
Summary: Go on and try to tear me down. - Next-Gen collection - 24: Lucy/Lysander.
1. even the brightest stars shine for you

**Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they don't belong to us.**

**All stories in this collection were written for our Union in Peril forum collab, in which everyone was assigned a partner to write for. There will be a multitude of pairings included. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Title: <strong>even the brightest stars shine for you.

**Pairing: **Rose/Scorpius

**Author: **Maddie (all the lonely people)

**For: **Amy (Amy is rockin)

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><p><strong>even the brightest stars shine for you<strong>

"there is never a time or place for true love. it happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment."  
>―<strong>sarah dessen, <strong>_**the truth about forever**_

**part 1**

My footsteps echoed in the eerily silent house, although it had been years since I'd stepped into the darkened mansion; I knew it like the back of my hand. There was an aura of magic here – not the physical manifestation, but something deeper, something much more _real_. The sights and smells of a British autumn were completely deaf to my ears; it was as if I'd stepped into a whole other world, a much happier one – or at least, one that had held happy memories, but now smelled like regret. There was an on surge of memories that flooded my brain as I walked through each room – where Lily had kissed Lysander for the first time, after years of anticipation, where James had dropped his glass of red wine, the stain was sill dark red against the crème coloured carpet. It seemed like the memories had woven themselves into the fabric of time, forever imprinted in this house.

I allowed myself a small smile, remembering Scorpius' expression when he saw that James had ruined his carpet, but then, like every time I had thought of Scorpius, there was a bittersweet feeling in the bottom of my stomach. I couldn't deny that I missed him – that would be lying, because he was in my every thought, and everywhere I looked – but if I were to meet him right now, I'd either hex him to Egypt and back or make out with him, and to be honest, I wasn't sure which one I was more likely to do.

There was a slight skittering noise behind me, I drew back instinctively. A solitary ray of moonlight illuminated the corridor just enough for me to see the small, rodent-like creatures. Mice. This place had really gone to the dogs, or rather, the mice; I chuckled slightly, revelling in the thought of what he'd say if he were to see his precious Summerhouse right now. He'd always been really organized. He'd probably have an aneurysm, I grinned, _No Rose, killing ex-fiancés is illegal. It doesn't matter if your uncle is Harry Potter _. . .

All of a sudden, there was a loud crash, and a muffled yell. Someone or something was definitely in the house, I realized. My body broke into a cold sweat. Maybe I should leave, the rational part of my brain said, but the Weasley part of my brain told me to keep going for what I'd come for. Besides, I could do magic. But still, the thought troubled me, who would break into a house that had stood unused and unloved for two years? Was it some teenage boys goofing around, or something more sinister . . .?

_Come on Rose,_ I chided myself, _what would James say if he knew you were scared of a mouse? What would Scorpius do if he saw a mouse in our— _

No, Rose, stop. No thinking about Scorpius.

I knewthe answer without thinking, he wouldn't _ever _let mice in his – our – house, in fact, if he was here, I wouldn't breaking into our former house, just for a glimpse of our memories. Maybe Lucy was right. Maybe I had to "let go of the past" and "move on". But these memroies were like a part of me, and if I knew Scorpius well, after the break-up, he wouldn't have taken any things of mine with him, "closure," as he and Al called it.

But that was utterly ridiculous, after all, Scorpius and I had known each other for a decade, and when someone had been part of your life for that long, even as enemies, was hard.

But then again, the Scorpius from two years ago was much different than the Scorpius of today. By now, he was making another girl laugh, telling her he loved her, taking her to his parents – he had probably chosen a Pureblood princess, so his parents would be pacified – and maybe, they were even planning to move to Summerhouse, settle down, like what he'd promised me—

_No_. I told myself, _you are not thinking of it right now_. But I couldn't help myself, the thought of Scorpius and another girl coming to the house, living here, made me sick to my stomach. There was another sound behind me; I wasn't imagining this after all, except these footsteps sounded a whole lot more human. The thought of meeting another human being in our house angered me more than it scared me. "Lumos." My wand tip lit the illuminated hallway. No one, but I knew that people were in this house. I continued cautiously. Finally, I turned the corner and was greeted by familiar oak doors. Nothing had changed, and yet, everything had, it as a dizzying concept.

The doors opened automatically, leading into the master suite. "It's still there," I murmured to myself, looks like I was right. The patchwork quilt seemed to glow in the argentite moonlight, and the whispering of the wind seemed to blow voices of the past to me.

I winced, this sounded so freaking cliché, and everyone knew how much I hated clichés.

The happy laughter of two young people – a man with platinum hair and a smile like gold, and a woman with russet curls and sparkling beryl eyes which danced in the sunlight – I could feel everything they wee feeling: the sunlight on our skin, the flowers and grass tickling our toes, I could smell the fuchsias and orange blossoms and dahlias which permeated my nose like a hazy day.

"I miss you," I murmured. It was the first time I'd allowed myself to miss him—

"I miss you too," a voice behind me muttered. I whipped around, wand raised; after all, I wasn't a Weasley for nothing.

"Fumun—" I shouted.

The stranger yelped, putting his arms above his head. From what I could see, the stranger had pale skin, hair the silken platinum and austere eyes of grey. It looked like the stranger hadn't laughed in a while. He seemed quite familiar, but no. It couldn't be.

Right?

"Rose! Rose! It's me!" There was only one voice that could say my name and still make it sound like a melody: Scorpius.

Damn.

His grey eyes looked at me with a sort of hungry fever, like he actually gave a damn what I looked like, like he _cared_ about me. "Rose, I'm so glad to see—"

_Why don't you spout your crap at someone else,_ I thought.

"DON'T YOU _DARE_!" I screamed. Scorpius stepped back, scared looking. It had been years since he'd faced the Weasley wrath, and I was _not _going to let him waltz back into my life with a heartbreaking smile and an apology, and forgive him. I was going to make him suffer, like he made me suffer. I'd drag it out; let him feel the pain of a thousand razor blades digging into his nails until he begged for mercy. That was only a single percent of what he'd made me feel like, I had been in pain for so long, I just wanted him to get an inkling of what he'd done to me. "_DON'T YOU DARE, SCORPIUS MALFOY! YOU ARE A COMPLETE ARSE_—!"

"Rose—" he tried to interject, I shot him a look of venom, and he flinched, like he actually had given a _damn_ of what went on in my life after he broke my heart. If he'd cared, even a little bit, he'd have asked Al to tell me, if he'd cared; he'd have never hurt me in the first place.

"Don't you dare," I was beyond anger now and he knew it. Surprisingly, he wasn't backing out like the slimy Slytherin snake he was. My voice was quiet, lethal, and unlike me. "You broke my heart. I loved you and you left me!"

"Rose—"

"If you cared," I pressed on, "you'd have at least tried to find out if I was dead or not."

"I did care," he said quietly, "More than you'll ever know." Yeah, right, what did he take me for? I was not the kind of Bella Swan-ish girl who let a man back into her life after he'd broken her heart.

"Spare me!" I spat. "You only care about one person, and that is _you_Scorpius Malfoy." He flinched, like this hurt him, but I continued on with my malicious tirade.

"Ro—" His voice was pleading now, and I almost felt pity for him. _Almost_ being the operative word, of course. No way was I going to let him off this easily.

"Rose, I—"

"Look," I said, pointing to the quilt. "You see that quilt? _That's my heart. I sewed my heart into that quilt, my love for you_; I sewed every good memory we had together in that quilt. EVER GOD DAMNED MEMORY and you fucked it up." The memory of the summer's day popped back into my head, for but a moment, and my heart felt raw and exposed, like once again, he was breaking it for the first time.

It never got any easier.

"Rose," he began cautiously. I made no move to interrupt him, as quick as the anger had come; it was gone in an instant. "Rose, you have to listen to me, you have to believe me, you're right. I don't deserve someone as smart, or as beautiful, or as kick-ass as you, and whatever we had before, I ruined it by leaving, and I just want to say I'm sorry." I snorted, yeah right. I wasn't Hermione Granger's daughter for nothing, he was not getting off that easily.

"Are you a bull?" I asked.

"Rose, just, can we talk? Please?"

I paused, considering my options: if I let him back into my life, he might break my heart, but if I didn't, I might always wonder what could have been. I got my answer from a woman who was probably only slightly sane, "Follow your heart, and take chances with life."

But what if he hurt me again?

"Fine," my voice was the perfect balance between casual and formal. "Tomorrow, coffee at three."

He looked astounded that I had chosen to accept his offer, and a smile broke out on his face at the thought of redemption, I couldn't help but grin, but my smile quickly turned austere. "Which coffee joint?" he asked, raising his pale eyebrows at me.

"The Metro café," I replied. "The one that's just across from the Ministry's west entrance."

He nodded; we'd been there millions of times together, and I had to admit: I still knew his order, it was like a part of me: every thing Scorpius and I had ever talked about, every conversation, every joke, every fight, every _memory_, was ingrained on my heart, and deep down I knew that no matter how much I tried, I could never truly purge myself of Scorpius Malfoy – and believe me, _I had tried_. "I'll see you there." He smiled at him, his crooked smile – the one I used to call his heartbreaker – and I felt my heartbeat racing in my chest.

_No_, I silently cursed myself, _no, no, no, no, no, no, you are __**not**__ falling for Scorpius Malfoy again, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO_!

I turned towards the door, "Wait," I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my house," Scorpius replied callously, eyebrows raised. "Our house."

"Shut up," I snapped. "Your house, this isn't home to me anymore."

"It will always be our house." Scorpius shook his head. "You're all over here, every thing I see is like some kind of memory."

I turned back around so he wouldn't see the smile on my face. This mission had turned out a bit differently than I'd expected, that was for sure.

Our of the corner of my eye, I could see my quilt – _our quilt_ – gleaming in the moonlight, once again, I could smell and hear the memories of that long ago summer day, but now I could also see a darkness, between constellations, where no stars shed their light. But for the first time in years, I didn't let it bother me.

Not at all.

What the hell did I get myself into?

.  
><strong> part 2<strong>

"Rose, what's got _you _all jumpy?" Camille asked me, an ebony eyebrow rose in curiosity. It was the next day, and Cam and I were at work, well, I was pretending to work, while I thought about what I'd say when I saw Scorpius again.

"Nothing!" I said hastily, she looked at me disbelievingly. OK, maybe I was a little bit stressed; after all, it was going to be the first time in years that I was going somewhere public with Scorpius, and I wanted to make a good impression – not that I cared what he thought of me – to prove that I was just fine without him. Like my whole life hadn't just collapsed into a whole fucking mess because he was gone.

"Sure," Camille said indifferently, turning back around. I ground my teeth together – Camille had a way of making you feel like crap, she was the best guilt tripper ever. "Don't tell e anything, even though I tell you everything about what goes on between me and James—" Yeah, she told me every detail, until I clapped my hands over my ears and begged for mercy.

"Fine!" I grumbled. "I'm going out to see someone—"

"AAAAAAH!" she squealed, "How could you not tell me this!" People who were passing in the corridors behind us shot us annoyed looks, but Cam was too happy to care. Her glee seemed to be running off on my, however, because my face soon broke out into a full-on smile. "Who is it?"

Damn.

I thought the excitement of me having a date – er – I mean coffee-break with a bloke would simply render her speechless until Scorpius had once again faded from my life – but did I really want him to, just after I'd found him again? – and this became nothing more than anamnesis of my youth. "Nooneimportant. Just,uh,ScorpiusMalfoy,butit'sreallynotabigdeal—"

"What the hell, Rose?" Camille explained, torn between annoyance, and joy. "First, why did you not tell me that you have a date—"

"—two adults having coffee!—" I interjected. She ignored me.

"—with Scorpius Malfoy. _The_ Scorpius Malfoy. This is just like those Muggle movies! I can't wait to tell Dom—"

"Wait!" I injected, hastily. "You can't tell anyone!"

"Tell anyone what?" asked a curious voice. _Oh great_, I thought, _why don't we just invite Daddy here then, we might as well tell him about this too_. Of course, I didn't say it aloud because Cam might take it seriously, and this was one conversation that I _wouldn't _want my father to witness.

"Hey, Lily," Camille plastered on a fake smile. "We were—er—just discussing the fact that we couldn't tell anyone about James' surprise party—"

I did a mental face-palm. James' birthday was _last month_. I shot Camille a look, and she responded with a shrug. "James' birthday was a month ago," Lily said, her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I'm not stupid!"

_At least one of us wasn't_, were the thoughts that ran through my head. Maybe this whole fiasco was trying to tell me that Scorpius and I just weren't meant to be, and I was OK with that. Really. _Really_, I was fine. "Is that Scorpius?" Lily's and Camille's chorused cry made me look up from my futile attempts at pretending that I wasn't interested in Scorpius.

"With what's-her-face from DMLE?" Camille raised an eyebrow at me. "Lola, I think. Or Leah, or Lizzie."

"Lexie, Lexie Zabini," I replied in a monotone voice. Scorpius, who had looked up when he'd heard his name being shrieked by two women, caught my eye with his gray ones. He smiled slightly, and the light glinting out of the frosted fake windows danced in his hair, making a sort-of-halo. Lexie tugged his arm, glaring daggers at me, and pulled him forward.

Lily, who was not stupid, put two and two together, her chocolate-brown eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"No way," Lily muttered, staring from me to where Scorpius had been to Camille then back to me. "_No fucking way_."

"Way!" Camille squealed, her long blonde curls dancing in the afternoon sun – or rather, the fake afternoon sun created by the fake windows. "They have a romantic date planned for three!"

I decided not to mention that this was just a coffee between two adults, who had no feels for each other whatsoever.

"How could you neglect to tell me this?" Lily screamed. "Wait – you're meeting him in _that_?"

Of course, Lily had to notice my clothing options first.

"Yeah," I looked down at my violet robes. "Why? It's just a simple coffee—"

Lily and Camille exchanged exasperated looks. "It is _not _just a simple coffee! Don't you see the bimbo on his arm? She obviously wants Scorpius too, and they have history—"

"—so do Scorpius and me!—" I argued. Lily and Camille rolled their eyes again, like my logic was so unrealistic it was laughable. It was times like this when I wondered why I even bothered.

"You don't get it, do you?" Camille sighed. "She was hanging on to him – obviously, she wants him back, but with you back in the picture—"

"I'm not back in the picture!" I yelled. "He was just going to explain to me why he ditched me!"

"So you _don't_ want him back?" Lily raised an eyebrow. I felt my will crumbling underneath her bright gaze. Damn. She was right: I did want Scorpius back, more than anything, even if he'd left me broken, I'd still take him back any day.

"Fine," I mumbled. "You're right."

Cam and Lily exchanged smirks, _finally they were getting somewhere with me_.

"Exactly, and with her practically dancing in front of his eyes, playing hard to get is not an option!" Lily continued, "Men are idiots. They go after the easiest thing in a skirt and tube top! Look at James."

"Yeah," Cam nodded. "Wait, _I'm_ dating James!" Lily and I rolled our eyes.

"OK," I relented. "But how am I supposed to—"

Before I'd finished speaking, Cam had opened a drawer and pulled out a small wardrobe, about something that a small Muggle girl would put Barbie's clothes in. As I sat, eyes wide, she pulled out a stunning outfit: blue jeans, a multicoloured scarf, a turquoise blazer ("It'll bring out your eyes!"), and a white tulle top. "Are you sure this isn't too...?" I let the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

"Only if you mean 'too beautiful—" Cam threatened.

"—or 'he'll fall for you too quickly'," Lily added with a wink.

I conceded, it's not like I had a choice.

"Fine!" I relented for what felt like the millionth time in half an hour. I was a good thing I wasn't a law-enforcement officer, or else I'd let everyone talk me into things.

Five minutes later, I emerged from the Ladies washroom with my new outfit. Both their eyes boggled out of their heads as I turned around self-consciously. "Rose," Lily breathed, for once looking at a loss for words. "You look beautiful."

I smiled; previous experiences with Lily had taught me that Lily would never pay someone a compliment, unless they really deserved it, so it meant something more to hear that out of my perfect cousin's lips. "You do!" nodded Camille. "You'd better get going, it's ten to."

"Thanks," I smiled genuinely.

"Good luck!" they chorused.

"Have fun!" Lily added.

"Don't stay up too late!" Cam winked, waggling her eyebrows.

"Use protection!" Lily giggled, loud enough for everyone to hear. I felt my face going beet red.

.

"Rose!" Scorpius took an intake of breath when he saw me through the window. I took one last deep breath of the autumn air, the smell of foliage and the sound of people walking through leaves calmed me.

The Metro Café was a small family-owned London coffee shop situated by the west End. It claimed to house all the comforts of Starbucks, without the prices of course. When I opened the door, a tinkling bell rang somewhere in the back of the café, and I was immediately asphyxiated by the smells of freshly-brewed coffee, cookies, and high-class perfume as London's finest patrons snacked on coffee and biscotti.

"Rose," Scorpius breathed. "Hey. Do you want to order?"

He looked me up and down, "Sure," I replied self-consciously. We stood in the never-ending line, not talking.

"You look nice," he said awkwardly.

I smiled, his compliment filled me with more warmth than any boiling hot chocolate ever could. "So do you." It was true: in the two years since we'd broken up, he must have had a lot of workouts in Greece or Africa, or _wherever_ he was, because he was looking _good_. His pale cheeks went pink.

"What would you like?" the barista asked in a faux-happy voice, ironically similar to the one that teachers used for first years.

"I'll have a medium French Vanilla and a chocolate biscotti, and he'll have a Swiss-almond-chocolate coffee and a double chocolate muffin," I said, just as he said**—**

"She'll have a medium French Vanilla and a chocolate biscotti, and I'll have a Swiss-almond-chocolate coffee and a double chocolate muffin." We exchanged a smile, even after all these years we knew each other like the back of our hands. It was making being mad at Scorpius really hard.

"Same old," he teased, and suddenly, the last vestiges of nervousness that had plagued me since our impromptu meeting last night disappeared. It was just me and him again. If the barista hadn't handed us our coffees, I think I would have started making out with him then and there.

"Let's sit," he led me to a secluded table. "OK, I know you're looking for answers—"

"Listen," I cut him off. "Last night – I may have said a few things—"

Yeah, and Voldemort may have killed a _few_ people.

"Rose, don't apologize, I'm a jerk. I left you." My mouth was completely dry. "I left you because I was an idiot, I was scared of commitment, I was scared of loving you – more than I already did – so I took the coward's way out. " My heart froze for a few seconds, he was right. He was an idiot, and a coward, and he didn't deserve me—

So why was my heart melting?

"You're here now," I whispered. "And don't worry, you'll pay for ditching me, especially when James and Fred and Louis find out—" His face paled at the thought of Weasley-Potter revenge. "I never stopped loving you."

"I never stopped loving you either," he admitted, "every day while I was in Brazil"— _That_'s where he was—"it took all the energy I could muster not to contact you, not to grovel at your feet for forgiveness. And I know I am in no way deserving of you, but I just wanted you to know that."

"Really?" I asked in a hushed voice. "You really cared about me?"

"I did," he admitted. "I even asked Albus for daily updates on how you were doing, if you were still hurting . . . whether or not you'd moved on . . ."

"Scor," I said in a quiet voice. "I want to spend every day of my lie with you. I love you, and although I might regret it at times – a lot, really – I always will. When you left, you took a part of my heart with you."

'I'm sor—"

I raised my hand, "Don't apologize, this is turning into some New Moon write off . . . Let me just say I love you and leave it at that." He grinned, knowing how much I hated sappy romance.

Besdies, who needed Edward Cullen when there was Scorpius Malfoy?

Suddenly, the world around us faded, nothing existed except for his face, which was slowly creeping closer to mine, and my heartbreak, which had accelerated to record levels.

Our lips touched, his tasted of coffee, and chocolate, and _love_. It was just spontaneous fireworks, every cliché one could ever think of. Normally, I wasn't one for sentimental thoughts, but this was perfect, when we kissed, it felt like our whole bodies were kissing, like our molecules were fusing together, and soon we'd become one person – like the Siamese twins. It was the most I'd ever felt with anyone, and in my head I could imagine Camille and Lily, "Fireworks? Check. Sparks? Check. Feels like there's no one in the world but you two? Check."

We finally broke apart, panting. "That was perfect," I breathed.

"You're perfect," he said sappily.

"What did I say about clichés?" I raised an eyebrow.

(Says the living, breathing, Romeo and Juliet paradox)

.

**part 3**

A month later, Scorpius and I were lying on the front lawn, staring at the stars. "That's Cassiopeia," he said, pointing out a constellation, "and that's Draco—" I yawned, letting the gentle lull of the dying leaves whistling In the trees calm me. "—and that's my constellation," Scorpius continued, oblivious to my almost-comatose state.

This was quite strange for him, as he was usually so observant. Now that I looked at him more closely, he had seemed really nervous all week . . . ever since our impromptu visit to see my parents, when he and my dad had a 'man-to-man' chat. . .

I briefly wondered if my dad had threatened him, but I didn't allow the thought to form in my head for more than a second until I dispelled it. Dad wouldn't – _would he_?

No, he couldn't a) because mum would kill him and b) because he knew I'd never forgive him if he came between Scorpius and I. He knew that I'd never choose between them, I loved them both, and he'd never make me choose.

"Rose," Scorpius asked, "are you listening to me?" I jerked back to the present, Scorpius' pale face loomed over mine, reflecting the bright stars. My face turned red when I noticed how close we were to each other, how easy it'd be to just stay here forever, just me and him. Always. "Rose?"

"Yeah?" I asked, sitting up. The expression on Scorpius' face was unreadable. and I had a momentary spasm of panic. What if he'd said something important? What had I missed?

"Rose, I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you"—he saw my confused expression and dropped on one knee. My brain refused to function"—what I'm saying is, will you marry me?"

My jaw dropped, and the world spun. My heart felt like it was lodged inside my throat, I could let out a word. The black diamond ring in the box looked like a dark star. The grin on Scorpius' face faded, turning to anxiety, then worry. "Of course I will," I managed. His face broke into a cautious smile and he leaned forward, touching my lips to his.

This was the way I'd always remember us, I thought to myself, nothing special, just two reckless in love people sitting on an almost-frozen lawn at 2am in the morning. I that wasn't perfection, I don't know what was.

Romeo and Juliet have _nothing_ on us.

.

**part 4**

It's kind of funny; I read a quote once that said, "Happy endings are just stories that haven't finished yet." Mum had always told me to stay true to myself, because the people who are truly your friends like you anyway. I'd grown up a cynic about fairy-tales, and happily-ever-after's and Prince Charming sweeping me off my feet, unlike Lucy and Dominique and Molly, who believed in all of that, I was more interested in getting a good Potions mark. School came first, love came second.

But I'd never truly realized how wrong the quote was. Scorpius was my – albeit flawed - Prince Charming: he was there for me, he cared about me and in his own way, and he was my perfect opposite.

Our happily-ever-after did come, eventually, after dad finally gave up on trying to convince me that "lot's of people got married at forty or later now" and that "what you feel for someone now is not necessarily what you'll feel in twenty years". We got married, in the most clichéd fairytale wedding ever, and the in-laws – specifically Mr. Malfoy and dad) only fought twice!

Of course, the ceremony would have been better if James hadn't ruined it y yelling, "NAME YOUR FIRST KID AFTER ME!" My dad's face, to this day, turns purple at the memory.

We moved into the Summerhouse, restoring it back to its original splendor. My memory quilt grew, each one more pleasant than the last, and now, as I prepare the baby's room, I remembered how we got together again.

Because you only fall in love once, I mean really fall in love, the kind of love that makes your head spin and your face go sappy. Love is actually kind of scary; it takes a lot of work, and sometimes, you want to bash them over the head with a rolling pin – but I can't – I wouldn't trade these memories for anything.

look at the stars  
>look how they shine for you<br>and everything you do  
>—<strong>yellow ; coldplay<strong>

**fin.**

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><p><strong>AN: Please review if you read it! NGF members, you get points for reviewing :)**

**And don't favorite/alert without reviewing, please and thank you.  
><strong>


	2. untitled i  teddyvictoire

**Pairing: **Teddy/Victoire  
><strong>Author: <strong>Maddi (who's scruffy looking)  
><strong>For: <strong>Vicky (incandescent dreams)

* * *

><p>it is timeless, the boy-meets-girl scenario-<p>

he is a painter; an artist with a beautiful vision. he is on a mission, he wants to be seen, he wants to be heard, he wants to be somebody, and he will not (repeat not) be distracted.

she is a vain girl, a spoiled little rich girl. she is on a mission, she wants to rebel, she wants to escape, she wants to live, and she will not (repeat not) be distracted.

**they meet.**

he hates her instantly. he hates the snarky little Weasley girl, hates how she is always ordering everyone around, treating them like they are dirt on the bottom of her six-inch stilettos. he hates how she is always so controlling, so sure that she is right, and everyone else is wrong. sure, she may be a pretty little face, but certainly nothing special, certainly not beautiful. he hates her, really.

she is a nuisance, an annoying little distraction- she is a distraction, and he is on a mission, after all. he wants to be seen, he wants to be heard, he wants to be somebody, and he will not (repeat not) be distracted.

**they clash.**

she hates him as well, she hates the bold Lupin boy, hates him with a passion. she hates how impatient he is, how he is always treating her like a child. she hates how he constantly questions her, hates how loud, wild, harsh he is. on more than one occasion, she dreams of him, poisoned. killed in a fatal car crash. choking on peanuts. she hates him, really.

he is a nuisance, a temperamental distraction- he is a distraction, and she is on a mission, after all. she wants to rebel, she wants to escape, she wants to live, and she will not (repeat not) be distracted.

**they… compromise.**

sometimes, it is possible to hate someone so much that, eventually, the hate you feel for them surpasses the realm of hate and turns into something else. friendship? love? more hate?

and, so it is with him –over time, something happens. something unexpected, something strange. he doesn't know exactly when he began to feel like this. maybe while she was shouting curses at him over the telephone? while she was storming out of his apartment?

at first, he doesn't realize it. he does not know why he puts up with it, the yelling, and the insults. he does not know why he stays, why he puts up with her. but he stays, and one day, he understands.

she does not. she is oblivious – all she knows is that she has a strangely obedient and slightly grumpy slave at her bidding. and she loves it.

meanwhile, her slave suffers from the unthinkable, the worst kind of affection that there is, the most deadly, the most horrible; unrequited love.

but, he remains silent, because she is a distraction, and he is on a mission. he wants to be seen, he wants to be heard, he wants to be somebody, and he will not (repeat not) be distracted…

**they kiss.**

… and he cannot recall a time when she looked so… free, so alive, and he thinks that maybe, with her hair all loose like that, and her eyes like sparkly emeralds, she might be a little bit beautiful.

so he does it, places a chaste kiss to her pouting lips, just like he has always wanted to do. he doesn't dare linger, but oh, how sweet she tastes, like spearmint and vanilla and pure passion.

she is still oblivious, blissfully ignorant of his pitiable situation, and she tries desperately to convince herself that he is acting purely out of ambition, not feeling. as if he would be capable of such a thing as feeling.

after all, she doesn't have time left for feeling. she is on a mission, she wants to rebel, she wants to escape, she wants to live, and she will not (repeat not) be distracted.

**they reflect.**

his efforts are nearly exhausted, all of the months he has spent playing a role, pretending not to feel the things that he does, pretending not to be affected by her actions, by the fact she does not reciprocate his affections. because, the only thing worse than unrequited love is watching the object of one's affection, completely unaware of one's affliction. it is then that he realizes his misery, how hard it has become to pretend, to act his part – after all, he is only acting now, not really living, just going through the motions, living behind a mask.

little does he know that she might be a better actor than she appears as well. Not that she is aware she is acting. the reality is, she is not sure what she is doing. she is not sure why she orders him to stay behind and help her with homework, why she always wants him close beside her. because, isn't he supposed to be a distraction? is she not on a mission?

**they crumble.**

as he watches her, she is tall and sure and dazzling, beautiful, and he wonders where he ever saw better. she is so still and calm, never mind the fact that they have not spoken in days, that he misses her terribly, and it is evident that she misses him as well. forget about _that._

after all, he mustn't forget his mission – because she is distraction, more so than ever, and he is on a mission, he wants to be seen, he wants to be heard, he wants to be somebody, and he will not (repeat not) be distracted.

and so he leaves…

**they mend.**

… and she brings him back.

the interesting thing about love is that it is forever changing, forever intertwining people with each other. the love one feels for a friend (or enemy) can become the love one feels for a lover. in turn, the love one feels for a lover can become the love one feels for a friend. and, sometimes unrequited love can turn into requited love. requited, reciprocated, beautiful love.

and, so it is with them, him and her, Teddy and Victoire.

he is a painter; an artist with a beautiful vision. she is a vain girl, a spoiled little rich girl. they are both on a mission, a life mission, and they will not (repeat not) be distracted. they are starting over, a new, fresh beginning, and this time

**they are doing it together.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review if you read it! NGF members, you get points for reviewing :)**

**And don't favorite/alert without reviewing, please and thank you.  
><strong>


	3. untitled ii  lilyteddyvictoire

**Triangle: **Lily/Teddy/Victoire  
><strong>Author: <strong>Tatoe (heading for a huge collision)  
><strong>For: <strong>Ella (fairy on acid)

* * *

><p>Most say it was never meant to happen, that they were never meant to be more than godsiblings.<p>

A few say that they were a match made in heaven.

She'd always liked him, from the very first moment she could remember.

It started with a small crush. A little girl's fantasy, one that'd never happen.

Lily assumed that he'd never settle for her, not in a million years.

Teddy was completely oblivious to her feelings- she thought he'd never know.

He'd been with Victoire for ages, and there wasn't an end in sight.

She had to do something, something drastic, he had to realize that he'd been with the wrong girl all along.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review if you read it! NGF members, you get points for reviewing :)**

**And don't favorite/alert without reviewing, please and thank you.  
><strong>


	4. false pretences

**Title: **false pretences

**Pairing: **Molly/Teddy

**Author: **Vicky (incandescent dreams)

**For: **Chi (paperbacks)

* * *

><p>Molly Weasley the second has always believed in fairytales. She's always longed for the type of romance in Muggle novels, the romance that has your heart racing whenever you even think of the other person. It's an ideal that she would love to be able to act out, an ideal that, if <em>she<em> could achieve, it would be the most magical way to show what magic is to the world.

She dreams of flowers and stars, imagines what it would be like to marry the one you truly love; there's no doubt in her mind that there's someone out there for everyone who is perfect for them, yet it just takes a little while to look first to find that special someone, sometimes.

Not for her, though. Ever since she turned six, she's loved Teddy Lupin with all her heart, had him fill the role of the Prince in her dolls' lives. She's never played with the Princess and the Prince; it's always been Molly and Teddy, always been her playing with the figures of her own fate.

Life is a fairytale and she's always wanted to be privy to the _real_ happy ending between them; the stars shine high in the sky and the beauty she sees in everything she sees proves to her that there is perfection everywhere, therefore it feeds her logic that everyone has that special someone. She wants to know how the story will end, rather than her perfect, idealist world with her dolls, the memories of those days staying with her now. All she wants is to be able to replace those fantasies with real memories, with the knowledge that she's got everything she's ever wanted.

Just when life throws spanners in the works, _that's_ when it gets hard to make the fairytale play out.

* * *

><p>"Teddy?" Molly's voice is almost inaudible even three metres away from the two figures. She's been searching for Teddy for hours, ever since she found out about his break up with Sharman McDonald through Aunt Ginny mentioning it to her Mum when they were all at the monthly Weasley girl get together. The girl had not only publicly broke up with him, Molly discovered, but she confessed that she'd cheated on him for the majority of their five year relationship.<p>

Still, as soon as she heard that he'd been hurt, she _had_ to go find him; he may be five years older than herself, yet she's always wanted to look after him if he needs help. Not just Teddy is she like this with; it's in her nature, hence her career choice into Healing, but there's no doubting just how focused she is on Teddy now.

She's finally tracked him down in the Hog's Head, the last place she thought he'd be, since this is where Sharman and he first got together. Then again, she thinks as she smells his breath as he turns towards her, he's so inebriated he most likely doesn't have a clue where he is.

"Mol-Molly," she can only feel proud that he remembers who she is, that her blonde hair is recognisable to him even when he's drunker than he ever has been before. "What are you doing here?" he drawls, his eyes bloodshot and his face slumped as though he's lost control of all facial expressions.

"Coming to find you, Teddy," she whispers as she puts her hand on his shoulder, fearful that he could suddenly tip forwards and onto the floor. "You should have known that I wouldn't ever let you be alone and hurt," she continues, trying to keep her voice devoid of emotion; he's never known that she loves him, never been aware of the fact that she's harboured a secret desire to be with him for almost three quarters of her life. Well, not so secret if you ask James or Scorpius, but that's a different story, and Teddy always has seemed so obtuse to any hints about it.

He shakes his head, not bothering to speak, but then his hand tightens on the glass of Firewhiskey in front of him. As his head turns slightly, the light change causes Molly to be able to see the glistening tear tracks down his face, remnants of the pain that's ripping him apart inside. Whilst her brain processes what this means, her body is a step ahead, her heart feeling as though it is being shredded into pieces so small, they're never going to be seen again. The sight of the hurt he's feeling is what gets to her more than the theory that he is pained…and it's something she can't describe, something she's never had any experience in. Because how many couples has she known to break up?

Rose and Scorpius have never broken up; Victoire and Rick O'Donnel are engaged, so she doubts that _they're_ splitting up; Lucy and Lysander are together – and even though they're two of the most volatile people Molly has ever known, Lily and Lorcan have never _officially_ broken up.

This is the first break up she's ever seen – because, of course, _she_ has never dated anyone, has she? She's always longed for Teddy, so she saw no point in wasting her life with other boys who could distract her from her end fairytale.

"Come on," she refocuses on Teddy, who looks even worse by the second, if this could be possible, and somehow manages to wrap him around her. Keeping him there with some hastily uttered spells, she clears his bar tab and walks with him very slowly out of the pub, trying desperately not to drop him.

"Why?" he's muttering over and over again, his voice getting louder each time he utters the question word. She stumbles on a rock just outside the pub doorway and trips, sending Teddy tumbling to the ground in a drunken heap. He doesn't bother to try and right himself – though she doubts he would manage, since he's this inebriated – and merely remains on the concrete, allowing the tears to spill freely down his cheeks once again.

"Why did she _do_ this?" he wails, sounding the most desperate that Molly has ever heard him. part of her is wondering if she's done the right thing, taking him home with her to talk through everything, when he's evidently so past coherency.

But she doesn't want to leave him here; that would hurt more than taking him home and listening to just _how_ much he loves Sharman, when _she_, Molly, loves him more than he could ever imagine. So, with a sigh, she leans over and hoists him to his feet, struggling with his weight but not caring.

You see, this is _Teddy_, Teddy Lupin, the one she loves – and she'd do anything for him.

Absolutely anything.

* * *

><p>She Apparates directly into her flat, right near to the sofa so she can roll him off of her and onto the slippery leather material, before looking around; the place is a mess! She's never let the flat get this messy before, but she doesn't really care because <em>Teddy<em> is here, and things like this are inconsequential when he is around, right?

Teddy is groaning into the pillow where he fell, his head buried in the material, his heartache plain for her to see. She's never experienced losing someone you've dated, obviously, but the last however many years of her life have all _sort_ of been like this; waiting, just waiting for him to realise that they're perfect for one another.

As yet, he hasn't.

Not sure what to do in her own flat (does she stay and try and get him to talk now, or wait until he's sober?), she decides to go and put the kettle on to make them both a cup of tea, if Teddy will drink it. It's almost like having a child, she thinks randomly as she pulls the mugs out of the cupboard; she'd love a child just like this, probably, but it's just the man she _wants_ to have the children with.

"Teddy, are you ok?" her voice is slightly higher than normal as she calls through to the living room after hearing a crash of some sorts from in there. There's no answer, just a muffled grunt sound, so she continues, "Do you want any tea, honey? I've just put the kettle on."

Again, there's no reply, so she rolls her eyes and turns back to the kettle, wondering for a moment why she's doing this when he's going to be an uncooperative bugger…but then, she turns around to find Teddy standing there, mere metres from her back.

There's something in his eyes that confuses her; it's almost like lust, a powerful love for someone so strong that they're obsessed, and his lips are curling into a smile that she doesn't recognise. Even before _she_ broke up with him, there had never been this radiance in his most sincerest smiles when he looked at her – it's an abstract idea of a perfect smile, setting a whole new criteria for a smile to be based on now.

"Sharman," he says the name of his ex girlfriend as he walks closer to Molly, somehow having made the mistake of confusing her for his ex. His smile is so bright; she's absolutely entranced by it, unable to look away for fear of forgetting just _how_ radiant he is…not that she could, of course, because his face is so ingrained in her mind – but that's by the by.

"Teddy, I'm not-" she begins to protest that she's not Sharman, that she's _Molly_ and she's trying to look after him. Well, she doesn't get very far; his lips are crashing down onto hers before she can say another word, his arms around her back, pulling her closer to him.

And then, she finds herself paralysed; she's unable to stop her body _finally_ getting what it's always wanted – Teddy. Her brain becomes disconnected to the fact that he thinks she's Sharman and merely concentrates on how Teddy Lupin is here at last, kissing her because he loves her.

(It's not the truth but she's tricked herself to believe it already.)

Even though she's still relatively in control of her thoughts, her body is like jelly and falls into Teddy's without hesitation; she kisses him back and can taste his taste on her tongue, feel with an extreme intensity each part of her body that is on his, imagine everything that could happen…

He doesn't say a word, merely kisses her with more passion than she could ever have realised he could have for Sharman, yet she can pretend that it's for her, right? Even if she can't, she does, and when he tugs her body towards her bedroom, she doesn't resist, doesn't consider that he's forgotten who she is – because he's Teddy Lupin and she loves him…and she's finally getting what she wanted.

He lies her down on the bed, beginning to rip her clothes off, and she doesn't resist, doesn't tell him that she's _not_ Sharman. Everything seems so perfect, she's trying with all her might _not_ to think of that, because it would ruin everything. And she can't have that, can't allow herself to rid herself of this happiness, as it's just making everything so perfect.

His lips nibble over her neck; his hands roam all over her body, not bothering about being hesitant as he's inebriated and still thinks that Molly is Sharman, someone he's slept with _loads_ of times.

There's the stench of Firewhiskey coming from him, but Molly doesn't care because she's training herself to like it as well, just because Teddy does – and this is just another training session. So she just kisses him back and moves as she thinks she should, because this is her first time and it's just magical.

Even though he's drunk and thinks she's Sharman.

* * *

><p>She wakes up before he does in the morning and just revels in the brilliance of the day, the memories of the night lingering in her mind…but then she remembers what she's tried to forget.<p>

That he was with _Sharman_ last night, not Molly, and that's something she needs to never forget.

But she can't help herself. All she can think of how _magical_ his touch was on her bare skin, how nothing seems to matter as much as it did before since she got Teddy – even under false pretences, but that's not the point, is it?

Deciding not to let him know what they did – because he thought she was Sharman, remember? – she gets up and dresses silently, casting a spell to redress him as well; she can just pretend she had to put him in her bed due to how drunk he was, right? It's not like it's _that_ much of a lie, as she _did_ do that…just with some other stuff as well.

She's made pancakes in the kitchen by the time he comes through, bleary eyed and confused, though she presumes he has a smashing headache.

"Did I...did I stay here last night?" he mutters as he sits down next to Molly at her table without a word of greeting. His tone seems slightly confused, as though he's trying to piece together fragments of recollections from the night before that don't make any sense.

"Uh…yes, you did," she hesitates for a second before talking. "You were pissed out your tree, so I thought it was safer that you stayed here, incase you died or something."

He nods thoughtfully, then winces as the movement is too much for his drink addled body. "I didn't see Sharman? I thought I-never mind, thanks, Moll, you're too good to me," he takes a bite out of the food on the plate in front of him as he talks, his brows furrowed slightly.

She takes a long, slow sip of her orange juice, just wanting to _tell_ him what they did; but she doesn't dare. The slumping of his shoulders as he evidently remembers that he doesn't have Sharman in his life anymore tells her more than anything that he's still madly in love with his ex and that he'll basically do anything to think that she's still with him.

"Thanks, Moll, I'll see you later," he mumbles as he stands up and strides towards the door without another word. The suddenness of his departure stuns her into silence, and by the time she can open her mouth, the front door to her flat is already slamming shut, and she can soon hear the telltale crack of his Disapparating from the building.

Her head in her hands, she wonders what's happened, and if it will ever happen again. But she knows that if she has the opportunity to do that again, she'll do it – and damn the consequences.

* * *

><p>That night, she has to go find him again. And she takes him back to her flat.<p>

And she sleeps with him again.

The next morning, she carries out the same ritual as the day before, right down to the layout of the pancakes on his plate – and he's the exact same as before.

"Did I see Sharman last night?" he asks her again this morning, probably recollecting how he was kissing Molly's neck and muttering Sharman over and over again.

"Nope, I think she's out of the country," Molly lies without hesitating this time, knowing for a fact that Sharman is in London, since she works in the same department as her. "You should get over her, Teddy; she's moved on, so you deserve the same freedom."

He shoots her the coldest, dirtiest look he has ever given her, capable of freezing her heart in a matter of seconds – it could splinter into a million pieces if he says that he loves Sharman no matter what, so she shuts her ears.

But he doesn't say anything; like yesterday, he shoves his chair back and stalks out of the door without another word, Disapparating with a crack that is the thing which melts Molly's heart.

She's getting too deep into this fake, fantasy world…but she can't help herself.

* * *

><p>That night, she finds him smashed again and takes him home…where it's like déjà vu.<p>

And the same for the night after, though by now she's learnt not to mention Sharman's name in the morning.

And the night after that.

And the one after that.

She carries on with this for over two weeks, each night taking Teddy home entirely drunk and him mistaking her for Sharman; they _do_ look alike, Molly thinks, as she looks in the mirror after Teddy has gone. They both have the same honey blonde hair, the same face shape and even a similar height: but Sharman is selfish, nasty and controlling, whereas all Molly wants is for her fairytale to come true, for her to marry her Prince Charming and live happily ever after.

Then one night, she goes to the Hog's Head to find Teddy. He's never anywhere else; he works just down the road in Hogsmeade and it's better to go get smashed in the Hog's Head than it is to do it in the Three Broomsticks. Anyway, Sharman _hates_ the Hog's Head, so he's never going to accidentally bump into her.

But he isn't in here.

"Hello?" she addresses the barman in confusion, having spoken to him every night for weeks now, to settle Teddy's outstanding bar tab. "Uh, you know Teddy Lupin? Have you seen him recently?"

The man looks at her with piercing blue eyes, eyes which seem ageless in comparison to his withered face, and nods slowly. "Yeah, he was in here right at the time he always comes in – like clockwork. But then the lass whose name he's always muttering – Shamrock or something – came in."

All Molly's heart can do is sink; it's too desolate to even shatter into a thousand pieces.

The shattering is the job of her fairytale's ending, anyway.

"You mean Sharman," is all she can say, correcting the barman's misnaming of the girl who Teddy evidently adores.

"Whatever," the barman rolls his eyes. "Anyway, she came in and seemed sad about something. She said that she'd made a mistake splitting up with him and wanted him back. So he took her back and they left together. That's it, kid, so you're off babysitting duty tonight." With this, he turns away and ignores the desolate girl before him, the one sinking onto the barstool that was always Teddy's.

"I'll have a Firewhiskey shot, thanks," she calls over to the barman. "On second thoughts, make it a double."

* * *

><p>She drinks and drinks that night, trying desperately to forget that Teddy and Sharman are together, probably doing what <em>she<em> and Teddy were doing merely last night. She tries to drink to get rid of the pain, but it just intensifies with each sip of disgusting spirit.

Part of her hopes that someone will come for _her;_ the rest of her knows that Teddy will come for her, that he'll know that she's hurt and he'll rescue her from her curse.

Nobody comes.

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><p><strong>Please review, and please don't favourite without reviewing! NGF members, remember that you get points every time you review, if that's any incentive )<strong>


	5. A Little Bit Of RealTime Magic

**Title: **A Bit of Real-Time Magic

**Pairing: **Sam/Roxanne

**Author: **Lovisa (lowi)

**For: **Blue (BlueEyes444)

**Message: **_Dedicated to Blue, who is one of the most amazing people I've ever met. Her kindness is way above me._

_This is, obviously, a crossover between Supernatural and Harry Potter, and thus this is AU, as these series aren't rather compatible with each other. But, as the timelines in these two worlds doesn't make sense, in this story (saying that Roxanne wouldprobably not have been very old in 2008/09, when season four takes place for Sam and Dean), let's say this is AU in the AU. Inception, anyone?_

* * *

><p>A woman in her early twenties walked out of a doorway in a dark alley. The way her high heels clacked on the cobblestone and the way the hair that she was pulling through her fingers smelled of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke made her seem very out of place.<p>

Well, maybe not the cigarette smoke.

Anyway, she didn't cast any worried glances over her shoulders, she didn't fumble nervously with her handbag and clutch it to her upper body—she simply strode down the alley, not even bothering to look into the dark shadows, which _everyone_knew was full of lurking creeps and dangerous creatures.

From the first look, one would have concluded that this woman was a foolish one—naïve, not yet scarred and scared by the big bad world. That was the simple conclusion, though. If one looked a little closer, thought a little harder, one would realize that she knew what she was doing.

Because no one jumped out in front of her feet, ready to stab her. No one tried to pull the handbag from her, which she dangled as a fisher would dangle his bait. No one walked up to her and pulled his fingers across her cheek, before pulling her with him into the darkness, covering her screams with a rough hand.

So, she had to know what she was doing.

And soon, she was gone into the shadows, as well, and her silent watcher wondered absentmindedly if he wasn't one of the lurking creeps in the darkness, the way he had stood gazing at her silhouette disappearing. Or maybe, the way she so easily had slipped into the black night might suggest that _she_was the dangerous creature.

But never mind, it wasn't the dangerous creature he was in search of either way. It was the timid-looking man that at this very moment walked out of another door in that alley.

His prey. But that made it sound as though he was a predator, didn't it? Wasn't he supposedly doing justice here? So why was he calling the short man in front of him, the man who now had noticed him and looked up at him with big, scared eyes, his _prey_?

Maybe because it was too easy to kill him. Maybe because he just had to lift his hand and push that demon out of him, as if it didn't matter, as if he was nothing more than a defenseless piece of meat.

And maybe that was all he was. Maybe it made everything easier, to think like that. Maybe he then wouldn't feel the urge to throw up, when the man lay twisting at his feet, with eyes rolling in his head and mouth gagging as black smoke escaped him.

He swallowed hard and left the man's body—or the demon's shell—to its destiny. He wouldn't need to clean up, because he hadn't even touched him.

He walked away with long steps, tried to make them as brave and relaxed as the woman's strides he had seen before.

* * *

><p>"Sam?" A grunt sounded and a figure peeked up from beneath his covers. It was dark in the room, and it was dark outside, and Sam wished he had never left his bed this night. "Wha—what's going on?"<p>

"Nothing, I just couldn't sleep."

It was easy to lie, and it was easy not to think of how Dean's eyes were piercing arrows that would have been deadly if he had met them, and it was even easier to smile and crawl into bed, too.

"Ahmkss…," Dean mumbled, and he fell back onto his pillow with a thud. And the thud would echo in Sam's head, because of its likeliness with the man's body's thud on the cobblestone and because of its difference from the woman's clipping heels.

Falling asleep was hard, but not to dream of it was impossible.

* * *

><p>The next time Sam saw the woman, he choked on his juice. And spilled it down <em>Dean's<em>front.

"What the hell are you doing, man?" Dean rose from the chair and began dabbing his shirt while rolling his eyes. "Can't you even keep your drink in your mouth?"

"Sorry, Dean," he answered, but instead of watching his brother's furious, desperate (and fruitless) tries to get his shirt clean again or at least appropriate, he couldn't draw his eyes away from the woman.

She sat with a steaming cup of coffee in front of her at a table to the left of them, and she was apparently caught up in a heated argument with the woman who ran the coffee shop. Her hands were flying around her head one moment, the next tapping impatiently with purple-colored nails against the table. Her eyes were one moment burning with anger, the next smirking with superiority, and the third open in tiredness and incredibility.

He was just about to hurry over there, some chivalrous part of him that was apparently too much of a _curious_ knight in shining armor urging him to leave his brother, no matter in how much of a need _he_was. But, as soon as he stood up, so did the woman, and she patted the shop-owning woman on her arm and gave her some sort of pitying smile, before clopping out the door.

The door stood open for a while, as if frozen in motion, letting a snowy wind enter. And Sam was as frozen where he stood, but then the wind that woke him came from his brother's icicle-clad voice.

"Sam, mind ignoring all the chicks for a moment?"

"Um…sure. Sorry," Sam hurried to say, and he went to the counter to get some napkins. He began wiping Dean's shirt off after giving some of the napkins to Dean.

"Who is she?" Dean asked when they sat down again, returning to their sandwiches. "And why haven't you told me about her? She's hot," he finished after taking an enormous bite.

"I actually don't know, Dean. I've not even seen her before," he answered, knowing that there was no other way for him to answer than like this. He couldn't tell that he had seen her before, because, well, then Dean would wonder why he had been out that night…and that he couldn't answer, obviously.

Dean pouted but with a smile underneath. "Well, let's hope we'll meet her again, huh?" he asked, leaning over the table and pushing a bit at Sam's shoulder.

"Yeah," Sam laughed, shaking his head a bit. "Sure."

* * *

><p>He hadn't known it would take less than a couple of days to meet her again, so when he actually bumped into her in a small shop, he was so surprised to see her that he forgot all about manners.<p>

"Oi, you, there!" he shouted from where he had stood choosing between frozen pizzas and frozen lasagna. She looked up and narrowed her eyes, and something told Sam that she was about to leave, so he hurried around the shelves and up to her.

"What?" she asked quietly when he arrived and grabbed her arm. "Who are you?"

"Umm, no one. Who are you?"

She looked at him with raised eyebrows, her lips beginning to quirk up in a smile. "No one? Well, that's a nice way of trying to get to know somebody." She shook her head and began to turn around.

"No, wait," Sam said quickly. "I am someone—okay, that was not a good way of beginning a conversation."

"It wasn't," she agreed, but she did stay, and Sam's heart made a little whoop.

"So, okay," he began, ruffling his hair. "Cat food, eh?" he asked, pointing at her tray which held two cans of cat food, one hunk of broccoli, and nothing else.

"Yes. That's not a good way of beginning a conversation either, you know." Her voice was so full of laughter now that Sam couldn't help but smile, too.

Sam shook his head, still smiling. "Yeah, sorry." He put his hand out, and she grabbed it and shook it. "Sam."

"Roxanne. Nice meeting you, Sam," she said, and she sounded as though she was repressing a giggle.

"Yeah, nice meeting you," Sam answered, and she dropped her hand. "So, where are you from? I mean, you're not from here, right?" He could hear that her accent was British, but that she fought hard to sound American.

She gave him a crooked smile. "It's that obvious, huh?"

Sam smiled back. "Sorry, yes."

She shook her head. "Ah, that's a shame. I'm from England, yes. And you?"

"I'm from…here," Sam answered with a nod, hoping she wouldn't ask him any questions about any see-worthy monuments or local stories. Then again, she didn't seem to be the average tourist, did she?

She nodded, and Sam suddenly noticed that they had arrived to the checkouts. "Aren't you going to buy something?" she asked innocently, and Sam just _knew_that she was playing with him. Damn it.

"Oh, yeah…um, hang on," he said, and he hurried back to the fast food, micro-food stand, knowing that he could only hope she still would be there when he returned. He shook his head at his own stupidity—why hadn't he grabbed a carton before? Then this would never have happened, and then he would have paid right after her and left the shop together with her. Now, she could just as well be untraceable, gone.

And she was. He was at the checkouts again, and the girl behind the cash register looked at him with a bored expression.

He handed her the lasagna and a bill while asking, "Did you see where that woman went?" Because she very well could have, being right in front of the huge windows that looked out at the parking lot.

"Nope," she answered, pushing her glasses up a bit on her nose. "Sorry, sir."

Sam gave her a strained smile, grabbed his lasagna, and left.

Dean sat in the car—or rather, he had flipped his seat back and lay on his back with his eyes closed and hummed to the music.

Sam jumped in and slammed the door behind him, which caused his brother to jolt and rise quickly. "Hey, what's the matter?" he asked after getting over the shock.

"Did you have your eyes closed all the time?" Sam asked while opening the carton and slicing the lasagna with a plastic knife. He knew it was supposed to be warmed up, but they were on the go, they were about to leave this town, and they were about to leave Roxanne. The knife broke in two pieces.

"What's up? Don't press that hard, Sammy, now you broke it!" Dean narrowed his eyebrows and took the carton from his brother. "What happened in there? Oh, and, yes, I've been half asleep ever since you left; it's not my fault you kicked in your sleep last night so I couldn't get a minute of shuteye."

Sam leaned his head backwards and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I met that girl," he said finally.

"You did? Did you speak with her?"

"Yeah."

"That's great," Dean said, and Sam could see in front of his closed eyelids how he was bound to be beaming. "But hey, why are you so glum?"

Sam only grunted as an answer, well aware that Dean would realize it all anytime now. And indeed…

"Ah, it's because we're leaving. And you never got the chance to get in her pants." Dean quieted for a while, and then he spoke through a mouthful of cold lasagna. "Here, the rest is yours."

Sam opened his eyes and grabbed the carton from Dean. "Thanks. …ah, never mind, though, I mean, she was just a girl. Let's go now."

Dean looked at him for a while, clenched his jaw, and then turned the key. They drove away quickly, and Sam stared out the window, trying not to think of how she had smiled at him, until Dean's voice stopped his musings abruptly. "Aren't you going to eat that?"

* * *

><p>Sam couldn't believe his eyes. She stood just across the street, taking out money from an ATM, and it should have freaked him out that he recognized her from behind, but it didn't. Because this was so preposterous that it dominated every other thought in his mind.<p>

They were in a completely different town, they had driven two days to get here, and she stood there as if it was just how it was supposed to be.

He hurried across the street and put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you following me?" he said with a grin.

Her eyes narrowed in alert at first and she moved her hand to her pocket, and if he had had time he would have wondered why, but now he could only focus on his incredible luck. "You? I might want to ask you the same," she said when she had apparently realized who he was, as well, and her body had relaxed.

Sam laughed. "Or maybe we're both following each other, without knowing it."

She laughed, too. "We're going for cheesiness, huh? Well, my suggestion in that case is that it's _destiny_," she said with waggling eyebrows, and Sam thought he was melting, because he wasn't supposed to be this lucky.

"Sure, that sounds great," Sam agreed. "Ehm…so, what's brought you here?"

She gave him a long look. "I'm on a road trip," she answered at last. "And you?"

In that moment Sam knew she was lying, and that she already knew that Sam wouldn't answer her honestly, either. "Same here. With my brother."

She nodded slowly. They had walked away from the ATM and stood now in the bright sun, having to shade their eyes with their hands. She had wrinkles around her eyes right now from screwing up her eyes so hard. She opened her mouth, but at that exact same moment a car's horn sounded and they both jumped.

"Oh, it's my brother," Sam answered when he spotted the black car that now rolled into view.

She smiled. "I guess I won't detain you, then."

"No, no, it's okay. Are you staying here for long? You want to grab dinner sometime?"

She looked at him with slightly wider eyes, and then put on her gloves. "Sure. How about tomorrow night?"

"That's perfect." Sam spun around quickly and pointed at the first restaurant he could spot. "There? At seven?"

She smirked a bit. "Let's say we meet there. And then I think we can find something better."

"Ah, okay, then," Sam answered with a grin. Then Dean honked again. "See you then, okay!"

She nodded and walked away.

* * *

><p>"Sam, for God's sake, will you focus? It's not meant to be me having to do the research, is it?" Dean said, exasperated, and he threw a pillow at Sam from where he lay in bed.<p>

Sam sat by the computer but hadn't yet opened the internet browser, which Dean could see perfectly from where he was laying behind him.

"Seriously, dude. It's just a chick, she can't be that special."

"Sorry," Sam answered. "It's just, I don't know…"

"But we've been here nearly two days and you've done nothing but think about her—I swear, you're mad." Dean had risen from the bed, and now he stood leaning forward with his hands on the back of Sam's chair.

"Yeah, sorry," Sam repeated himself. "I'll concentrate now, okay?"

"Good," Dean said, patting Sam on his back. "You'll see her in just a couple of hours, so try and get something done," he said with a grin. "Because you can't expect _me_to do this, can you?"

Sam shook his head, a crooked smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. It was funny, the way she affected him. He couldn't even think of this, what he was hunting, why he was hunting it. She was the one and only thing on his mind. Now, though, he would focus.

Okay, what did he have? Murders in rooms with locked doors, where the victims hadn't a mark on their body…

He and Dean had first considered it being a ghost, haunting the buildings…but that soon made no sense, as there were murders all over the town. The funny thing was that in the last town they had been, they had seen the exact same pattern—random murders.

But the murders had abruptly stopped, and then he and Dean had seen the exact same thing here instead. They had left the other town, when nothing more seemed to happen there, and when they both got the feeling that these two places were connected, that it was the same case…

But as they landed nowhere, found nothing, and only seemed to run around in circles, they were beginning to tire. Already, after one day. Well, not really, because they had been in the other town for two weeks—and, besides, it was mostly Dean that was starting to become cranky and bored.

Sam sat by the computer for another hour, reading old articles in the local newspaper, searching for people that had witnessed something strange in the past, but he found nothing. Everything led back to these most recent murders.

"How's it going?" Dean asked suddenly, sitting down on the other side of the table.

"I can't find anything. I first thought I had something—it was a girl here that has a blog, and she wrote that she had seen someone in her garden, and I was certain it would lead somewhere, but then it ended in her friends playing a prank on her. I mean, seriously, how often are we working on a case where we have to read teenager's _blogs_, Dean?"

Dean bit his lower lip. "There is something really weird here, Sam, I know it."

"Yeah," Sam answered with a slow nod. "Maybe I should ask Roxanne, tonight."

Dean's eyes widened. "That's a great idea, really! I mean, she was back there as well, and now she's here…" He drifted off and looked down at his hands.

"What?" Sam asked sharply when Dean had opened his mouth a few times but not let anything come out.

"I don't know…isn't it weird?"

"What's weird?"

"That she's here, as well… I mean, of course it could be a coincidence, but…"

"Are you suggesting that she's the murderer?" Sam asked incredulously.

Dean shook his head rapidly. "No, no, of course not!" He looked up then, with his brow furrowed. "Or maybe."

"That's just bizarre, Dean," Sam stated. "I better get going now." He rose and shut his laptop.

Dean didn't leave his chair, but when Sam went out the door and was on his way to close it, Dean called after him. "Sammy, just be careful, okay?"

Sam sighed. "Sure, Dean. See you later." As he walked down the street with his hands in his pockets, he started to think, though. There actually was something wrong here, as he had thought. But it couldn't be that Dean was right, could it? Roxanne simply didn't seem to be of the…how to put it…_killing_type.

"Hello, Sam!" He had arrived outside the restaurant and spotted Roxanne waiting for him.

"Hi," Sam answered. "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks. And you?"

Sam only nodded, watching her tangled dark red hair stream down her back as they began walking. It looked almost like blood.

"We're heading this way—there's a small restaurant where they have the most delicious pizzas," she said, speaking rapidly, and her heels clopped as much as that night Sam first had seen her.

* * *

><p>"So, favorite subject in school?" Sam asked. They had finished their pizzas and were now awaiting their desserts. So far Sam had learned that she had an older brother named Fred, that she loved sports (though she didn't explain which sport was her favorite), that she had lots and lots of relatives, and that she had finished school three years ago and had wanted to go away this year to relax.<p>

She looked at him with a fingernail (this time turquoise) tapping against the table. "Probably…science," she said at last. "You—oh, hang on." Her cellphone was ringing, and she flicked it open quickly. "Yes? …I see. I'll be there soon." She closed the phone and gave Sam an apologetic smile.

"What?" Sam asked and tried not to show the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"I'm so sorry, Sam, I have to go. It was really fun tonight; we should do it again." After she stood, she hesitated, leaned over the table, and pecked Sam's cheek. "See you."

Sam smiled. "Yeah, sure."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Sam!" A car drove to a screeching stop just next to Sam, who was walking next to the street on his way back. "Jump in, quick!"<p>

"Dean? What are you doing here?" Sam asked as he opened the car door.

"Hurry!" Dean sped up even before Sam had had time to close the door properly. "I listened to the police radio, and there's been another murder, so I figured that if we hurried up, we might get there in time to see something."

"Oh, great."

"How did your date go, by the way?" Dean asked lightly as he turned around a corner.

Sam shrugged. "Okay, I guess. She left before dessert, but—well, before _that_, all seemed fine."

"She left?" Dean asked, but Sam hadn't time to answer, because they arrived at the address and it was completely quiet. No police cars, no light, no nothing. "It's here, I know it," Dean said quietly, and he got out of the car.

Sam followed him with the inkling that something was really wrong. There wasn't a sound to be heard except from the gravel that crunched underneath their feet.

They entered the house through the already-busted door. At first sight, it seemed to be pitch-black in there, but then, when their eyes had gotten used to it, they saw light peeking out from beneath a door to the left of them.

Sam opened it, while Dean had his gun at ready.

Then everything happened so quickly, and Sam understood nothing. All of a sudden there was a beam of flashing lights, two twirling shapes in front of him, and the next thing he knew, he lay on the floor rubbing his forehead.

"Roxanne?" he asked when he recognized the tangles on the woman's back in front of him. "It was really you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked when she had turned around. "Oh, and sorry about that, it'll stop bleeding soon." Her voice was harsh, rapid, not at all soft and warm as it had been before.

Sam looked at the hand he had been pressing against his head, and she was right; it was covered in blood. What had really happened when they burst in? And—wait, where was Dean?

"It's okay, your brother is taken care of. He was…hit a little harder. But he's resting in the other room—as I said, it's okay."

Because that made sense. "What's going on, Roxanne?"

She looked at him for several seconds with eyes that seemed to be on fire. "It's a long story," she said finally, and she sat down on the floor next to him, cross-legged.

"I'm sure you'll have time to tell me."

She nodded, watching him intently with her chin resting in her hand. "Sam…I'm a witch. I can do magic."

What the…? "What?"

She put her hand into her pocket, hesitated, and then she revealed a wooden stick. Sam was going to say something, but she stopped him. "Wait, look here." She whispered something, and suddenly a piece of paper that lay on the table in the room (which apparently was some sort of living room) folded itself into a small bird and flew over to Sam.

Sam couldn't believe it. She was some sort of…creature, she had to be—evil; she was what Dean and he were hunting all the time, it didn't make sense, he couldn't think clearly…evil, a monster.

"It's okay, Sam. I'm not bad. There's a whole world of people like me—or, the whole world is _filled_with people like me."

"What did you do to me?" Sam asked, because he couldn't comprehend that about the whole world; it was too surreal.

"Oh, I just Stupefied you. And you fell backwards and hit your head," she answered matter-of-factly.

"Ah," he nodded eventually, even though he felt like running away from there. Because no matter how scary the creatures they had seen were, none had seemed so normal and seemed so good, as Roxanne actually did.

Suddenly the door swung open, and a blonde man entered. "Roxie, what are you doing?" he asked when he presumably had taken in the situation. "Weren't we going to go?"

"It's okay, Louis, I'll be there in a minute." She looked sternly at the man, who raised his eyebrows but closed the door.

"Who is he?" Sam asked.

"He? Oh, that's Louis. My cousin. Anyway, how do you feel about me being a witch?"

"Does it even matter what I feel?"

Roxanne giggled. "Guess not."

"But what are you doing here?" Sam asked, finally remembering the (well, not _oddest_anymore) question at hand.

"Same reason as you, I believe. Those murders, Sam. And, by the way, you don't have to think of that case anymore. It's solved, okay?"

"'Okay'?" Sam repeated. "What, you, er, 'magic-ized' the murder and now everything's fine?"

Roxanne laughed again. "The woman who performed those murders was one of our kind, and we've now sent her to jail. So there's really nothing to worry about, Sam."

Both of them fell in silence. Sam felt, in a way, even more confused now. Or…that wasn't the right term. Freaked out, that was it. So, here he sat with a witch. And in this case it was a real witch, not like those demon possessed women that had sold their souls; this was a witch, born with magic. And from the way she spoke, there was an entire community with wizards and witches.

He rose, quickly.

"What are you doing?"

Sam breathed in heavily. "I have to get Dean and get out of here." He didn't know why, but this whole situation was really scaring him.

"Sorry, Sam, you can't. Not yet. I'm so sorry it had to end like this. I would have hoped we had met somewhere else, in another universe or something." She had risen, too, and now she fingered her stick again.

"What are you doi—"

"_Obliviate_!"

* * *

><p>Sam opened his eyes when someone hit him on his cheek. "Hey, wake up!"<p>

"Dean?" Sam asked, rubbing his forehead. Hey, was that…_blood_? "Where are we?"

"Don't you remember?" Dean furrowed his brow and helped his brother up. "Here, take this and wipe that off."

Sam did as he was told. The blood was dried. How long had he been unconscious?

"We were working on that case with the murders and got here, and you were knocked out—it wasn't anything supernatural going on here, just a couple of…er…_normal _steroid-hyped-up guys who had lost it and were chasing down their old girlfriends. They had keys to all the places; the police told me, so that's why the doors were locked."

"Oh," Sam said as his fingers closed around a paper in his pocket.

"C'mon, we better leave this place now." Dean walked out through the door.

Sam took out the piece of paper. It was crumpled, but it had once been folded as a miniature bird, and when he looked at it, he felt as though he had forgotten something really important.

Then Dean honked, so Sam threw the bird in a dustbin next to the drawer and joined his brother in the car.

* * *

><p>And in another car, miles and miles away, a woman lit up a cigarette and wondered what could have happened, if things could have been different.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Please review, and no favouriting without reviewing, thank you =]<strong>

**A reminder to all members of the NGF that points are awarded for reviewing.**


	6. and the spotlight is on you

**Title: **and the spotlight is on you

**Pairing: **Teddy/Lily

**Author: **Heather (shoveitsunshine)

**For: **Dee (save the world and be a hero)

* * *

><p>Lily Luna Potter loves dress up.<p>

She's five, it's her birthday and she's surrounded by her family. There's a pile of presents by the window - Rose keeps dancing into them – and a table filled with food by the back door. All of her cousins and spinning round the room, chasing balloons and throwing ice-cream at each other. A typical Weasley-Potter birthday party. She's five years old now (a big girl now) and she's smiling and laughing louder than the others and Rose finally falls over the pile of presents and lands in a red-haired, red-faced heap.

Teddy finds her later on, after all her presents have been opened and all her cousins have gone home. He's sitting on a huge wooden chest, decorated with the prettiest engravings Lily has ever seen. With a hint of a smile on his face, he hands her the tiny gold key and disappears into the kitchen. The wood is dark and smooth, engraved all over with tiny flowers. Lilies. Her favourite. She slips the key into the lock and wiggles it and wiggles it until the lock clicks and she can heave the lid open.

Inside is piles and piles of neatly folded clothes. Not just any clothes though, dress up clothes. There is a pink tutu and wing set for when she wants to be a fairy, there is a bright velvet dress for when she wants to be a princess, green tights for Robin Hood and a fancy wig and hat combination for Captain Hook. She even has a pantomime horse costume.

In that moment, Lily Luna Potter is in her element.

* * *

><p>So all year round, she plays dress up. Leaping around the house, wielding her pretend sword or her pretend wand and in between hours of play she writes to Teddy. She sends him long long letters, written in her colouring pencils. She tells him about her brothers and her cousins and her games. She draws pictures for him too. And he writes back, not so long letters about his friends and his lessons and her cousins. Victoire and Dominique and Molly. She reads about Victoire a lot. About their adventures and the fun they have and Lily can't help but feel jealous because Teddy is supposed to be her friend, not Victoire's.<p>

Until it's her birthday again, and Teddy presents her with a new dress up outfit and suddenly all is forgiven.

Every year, she writes to Teddy while he is at school or work or wherever and every birthday he gives her a new dress up outfit. She gets a lion and a Roman soldier and a Greek God and all sorts of other lovely outfits.

And then she turns eleven. And the only thing she gets from Teddy is a birthday card.

She's not going to lie, that one hurts. Because she though that Teddy actually liked her. They were friends, and maybe they could be more. She gets over it though. He won't reply to her letters. It's like he's dropped off the face of the Earth. She doesn't see him until September when she leaves for Hogwarts. When Lily sees that crop of blue hair from the carriage window, her heart leaps. It's Teddy and he's come to see her off.

That feeling of joy lasts all of ten seconds, when she sees that Teddy has his arms wrapped around the new Head Girl. Dominique Weasley. And those big brown eyes fill with tears as she watches Teddy stoop down and kiss her cousin goodbye. She feels replaced and hurt and all sorts of things she shouldn't feel at eleven years old but does anyway.

The Sorting Hat puts her in Slytherin. She's never been happier.

* * *

><p>She hears nothing from Teddy in her first year, or her second, or her third, or her fourth. There is no word in her fifth and sixth and the first time they have a real conversation about their lives is when she's seventeen and about to leave Hogwarts for good. He's taller now than the last time she saw him and his hair is a darker shade of blue. More mature, though she would never really say Teddy was mature. His arms are still laced around Dominique's waist and she's still the glorious blonde with the stunning smile and Lily is just as jealous as ever. The fact that Lily herself has most of the male population of Hogwarts falling over themselves seems to escape her notice.<p>

After the ceremony while her family is fawning over Teddy and Dominique, Lily slinks away, she has a bag of clothes and money slung over her shoulder and the key to a London flat in her hand. She heads to Hogsmeade and the train that will take her away from it all. She's sick and she's tired of living in her family's spotlight. From now on, Lily Luna Potter will make her own name.

Her flat is horrible. It is dank and dingy and not at all nice, but she makes it work. With the little money she has, she cleans the place up with new paint and rugs and the tiny rooms look halfway decent for a while. She gets a job waiting tables in a cafe across the street. The owner is this little old lady and she's so sweet, helping Lily with anything she needs.

When she isn't working, Lily goes to auditions. She attends as many open auditions for as many running productions as possible in London. The first part she plays is Sophie in "Mama Mia!" And it feels great to sing and dance and act and live those dreams of dress up for real. When opening night arrives she doesn't even feel the nerves. Until Teddy shows up.

He holds a bouquet of flowers. Not lilies. She hates lilies. And roses. He brings daisies. Her favourites. He hands them over and wipes his hands nervously on his trousers.

"Dom's waiting for me. I should go." He offers as she throws the flowers into a vase of clean water. Her hair is pulled back carefully and her make-up is done to perfection. Just the way she likes it. He stands in the doorway to her dressing room awkwardly.

"Give her my love." It's her cold reply as she pushes him out of the room and shuts the door in his face.

She has never felt more powerful.

That night she shines. She pretends that he isn't there with his hand entwined with hers and surprisingly, it's easy enough to forget about them both for a little while. But then he comes back, night after night after night. For three whole weeks, he attends the evening performance of the musical. Every night he brings daisies and every night she throws him out of her dressing room.

Not tonight.

* * *

><p>He steels himself. He brings lilies instead of daisies. She tries to throw him out but he won't let her. They fight and she throws the lilies at him. He just looks at what a moment before was a bouquet, with a lump in his throat. And then he kisses her. It's not sweet and loving like she always imagined it would be. It's hard and pressing and desperate. It's angry and full of both of their hate. Only for a few seconds and then he leaves. She can smell him on her skin after he goes. She doesn't go out that night. She sits in her dressing room and cries herself to sleep right there. A first for Lily.<p>

He doesn't call and he doesn't write. She'd think there was something up with him, but this is Teddy and he has been dropping off the face of the earth at whim since she was eleven. Molly tells her that he and Dominique split up. The little green monster inside her jumps up and down with glee.

* * *

><p>A new year, a new flat. Same girl. She gets a letter. A muggle letter two weeks after moving. It's from him. But then she already knew that. Who else would try to find her again?<p>

_Happy New Year.  
>- T.L<em>

She just smiles.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review if you read it! NGF members, you get points for reviewing!**

**Please don't**** favourite/alert without reviewing, thank you =]**


	7. follow what you feel inside

**Pairing: **Dominique/Lorcan

**Author: **Alice (watching stiricide)

**For: **Becca (Aebbe)

* * *

><p><strong>follow what you feel inside<br>**follow what you feel inside  
>it's intuitive; you don't have to try<br>**Naturally : Selena Gomez**

* * *

><p>He was the scrawny kid with the shirts two sizes large because his twin, Lysander, was considerably larger and bulkier than him. He was the kid with the pet newt instead of the ubiquitous owl and the spiky hipster hair when he was eleven. He was the kid with the sloppy grin on his face, the boy with the favorite color of violet, and the little guy who seemed to be a offshoot of his cooler, more extroverted twin, even though he was only four minutes younger than Ly.<p>

He never considered himself an outcast, but more just a child eccentric. For ages his unorthodoxy had never bothered him. He liked himself; self-esteem wasn't an issue. Because who fucking cares what others thought?

But now he's not eleven but seventeen, not child but adult, not happy but lonely, and not interested but bored of life. He's tired of idling in the idyllic fields of his parents' vast nature preserve and he's tired of just plain content. He's well aware that this feeling of inadequacy afflicts every seventeen-year-old man fresh out of boyhood, and for once, he's not ashamed of not being unique.

* * *

><p>"Mum, I'm going to America," he announces one day, stepping into the room with a camera grasped in one hand and a sign of unhappiness graced on his face.<p>

Luna doesn't drop the tumbler of coffee that she's holding and she doesn't lurch like the way his friend Fred's mum did when Fred told her he was leaving for New York City. Luna looks underwhelmed, in fact.

"I've seen that coming since Ly moved to Belgium, Lorc," she merely comments. "You boys never let it go, do you?" It's tacit encouragement from Luna.

"Thanks, Mum."

"Just follow what you feel inside, Lorc," and with anybody else, Lorcan might have squirmed at how cliché that sounds, but with Luna Scamander, it's just wisdom at its most graceful.

And so he's off, just like that. Scamanders are like that, disappearing and appearing again over and over again and loving during one moment and hating during the next. He's like his father before him; leaving on missions and for research and not coming back for years on end.

* * *

><p>He has half a mind to join Fred Weasley in New York, to have somewhere to crash for the next couple of weeks until he gets a place and a life of his own, but then decides against it at the last minute; after all, following his friends everywhere isn't gaining independence. In his defense, he thinks, something he's wanted forever is his own independence.<p>

Lorcan decides on Boston. It's still close enough to England that he can Apparate without too many risks – for Apparation was unhealthy over extremely long distances – but in and of itself a different place. He heads over there by Muggle aeroplane, for Lysander extols about how fun it is being 2000 feet in the air, and who is Lorcan to question what Ly says?

The first thing he learns about Boston is that the Muggles there are crazy. The traffic is outrageous. The Muggles have these roads in the air – he later learns they are called ramps – and never do the reverberating screeches of car honks or the bustle of lane-switching – what Muggles call crashing into each other, in essence – escape his senses until he leaves the vicinity altogether.

He could be happy here, with everybody doing his own business and no eyebrows raised. He could be happy here.

* * *

><p>Lorcan lands a job as a writer at the local Wizarding newspaper, the <em>Bostonian Times<em>.

"Say, kid," Chad Creevey, one of the senior reporters, and a few years Lorcan's senior, comments one day after he notices Lorcan's casual shots of the ocean side, "You sure have got a great eye. I hear the photography department is in need of talent this year."

Lorcan stutters, "But...no! I just take pictures for fun! I mean-"

"Kid," Chad says, louder now, "My own Daddy is a professional photographer. Dennis Creevey – you've heard of him?" Lorcan nods. "Yeah; he and Harry Potter used to go to school together. And now he's famous; I'm not trying to brag, just trying to make my point, but he's a world-famous photographer. Trust me. I know you've got loads of talent."

The next day, Lorcan applies for a position at the photography department. He's accepted, and his photo of the dingy Muggle sailboat with its tattered sails, the film of hazy watery spray in the image, and the dynamic waves splashing around the boat makes its way to the boss's office in a golden frame.

* * *

><p>"But Aunt Hermione, I don't <em>want <em>to go over to Bos-" Dominique exclaims angrily at her boss, the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement, who, incidentally, also happens to be her aunt.

Hermione shakes her head lightly. "The issue isn't whether you _wish _to go or not; it's that the American Ministry needs a few part-time workers in their Law Enforcement department and since you're the youngest of our lawyers, the department management volunteered you."

"But- But...you're the Head! Can't you, say, overturn their decision?"

Hermione again shakes her head. "No, Dom, I get no say in this. I only get a say if the matter at hand is a matter of life or death, or if we're in a openly declared war, which we're not."

Awkward silence commences.

"Fine," she finally breathes, and stalks out of the office, leaving a distressed Hermione behind to contemplate the situation. No, Dominique's not spoiled, she really isn't; it's just that she has just been told that she must abandon her life and start again in a foreign city in a strange country, is all. That's all, folks.

Well, she thinks, trying to cheer herself up, I could always write letters, right?

Not surprisingly, her attempt at happiness doesn't work.

* * *

><p>Reluctantly, she leaves for Boston that June, after clinging to England for three months. Welcome home, she thinks bitterly as she reaches the location of her new flat.<p>

Excitedly, he returns to Boston that June, after a little visit back at England. Welcome home, he thinks fondly as he reaches the location of his old flat.

* * *

><p><em>CRASH<em>

Lorcan drops his lunch canteen.

Dominique drops her notes for the big day – the first day at the new job.

"Ow!" He yells. He picks his canteen up. Unfortunately, her notes are scattered all over the ground. She starts to scuttles to retrieve all of her pages, cursing herself for not having the foresight to use some sort of charm to clip the pages together. After a few moments of stun, Lorcan drops to the ground too to get all the parchment.

When all of the notes are safely stowed in a bag of Dominique's, they look at each other.

"Dominique _Weasley_?" He intones.

"Lorcan Scamander!" She cries. He's eternally grateful she can differentiate between him and Ly.

She goes in for a friendly hug – their parents were good friends, what with Luna having stayed with Bill and Fleur over the war - while he sticks out a hand to shake. He ends up hitting her stomach.

Both remain silent for a moment. Then, Dominique laughs.

He loosens up too after that. They walk together to their respective workplaces, and coincidentally, they find out that not only are they flat-neighbors, but also that they work locations are next doors to each other.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Dom," Lorcan calls, three months later after their initial meeting. "Wanna hit the streets and go for some coffee?" He's bored and it's the second-to-last Saturday of September; soon it would be too cold outside for much sightseeing.<p>

"Coffee?" Dominique frowns. "Like...on a date?"

Lorcan, ever so socially adept, he sarcastically thinks to himself.

"No. No! Of course not!" He cries, throwing his hands up into the air, as though proclaiming his innocence in some way. "Not like that! I mean, just casual, right? We're pretty good friends now, right?"

"We are pretty good friends," she agrees, and Lorcan doesn't know why, but he thinks he hears a twinge of disappointment in that statement. "You've helped me adjust to Boston, and now I actually kind of feel like I belong here."

"Yeah. So, like friends?"

"Yeah. Okay, like friends, I guess," she mutters, and Lorcan doesn't know why she's so sad.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He asks after a moment of silence.

"Nothing," she mutters. "But just one thing," she adds, picking up her tone again.

"What?" He asks warily.

"Let's go out for lobster and clam chowder, okay? I've always wanted to see what Boston's seafood is all about."

Lorcan grins. "Of course."

* * *

><p><em>Follow what you feel inside<em>.

It's a lesson she was taught by her mother since she was four. Follow what you feel inside, Dominique; you're smart and wise, you'll know what to do.

But the thing is, she doesn't know what to do. He's weird like that. With anybody regular, her Veela charm would have already caused them to act differently around her, yet he seems not to be able to see it. He seems so oblivious at times she wants to scream at him and throw something sharp at his cute face.

Arg.

She feels a crush bubbling up. It's just childish, she tells herself. It's just because he really helped you out adjusting to life here, she thinks. It doesn't mean anything.

But one look at that oblivious idiot, and all she wants to do is hug him and never let go. It's a strange feeling. She doesn't want to kiss him or shag him or anything like that; all she wants to do is hug him. She's lonely, and he's her only friend. He also happens to be the nicest, least sanctimonious person she's ever met. She doesn't want to sound like a fragile doll waiting for her boy-toy, because she's strong, okay? She's just as strong as any man, no doubt about it.

But love doesn't mean weakness, right?

Follow what she feels inside?

* * *

><p>"Hey, Lor," she punches the unmoving boy – no, man.<p>

"Wake up," She commands.

"Go 'way Ly," he mumbles softly. She laughs.

"Merry Christmas," she giggles. He recognizes that giggle, apparently, because he bolts up in bed.

"Merlin, Dom!" He yells. "What are you doing in my flat?"

"Nothing a little Alohomora can't fix," she answers. "You really ought to have better security in this flat," she suggests, offhandedly.

"Gosh, frightened me to death, you did," he mumbles.

"Merry Christmas!" She yells in his ear.

"Get dressed, then come to the living room so we can exchange presents," she orders, before sprinting outside and closing the bedroom door behind her.

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbles after her rapidly retreating back.

* * *

><p>"Well, this is certainly awkward," she says matter-of-factedly.<p>

"It is."

They stare at each other, each holding a copy of _The Odysseus _in their hands.

"How did we manage to get the same book for Christmas for each other?" Dominique asks.

Lorcan shrugs. "I thought you might like this, since you say you like Muggle literature all the time," he explains.

"And _I _thought _you _might like this too, since you always say you're interested in the Ancient Greeks."

They stare at each other. Finally, it becomes all too much; they begin laughing uncontrollably. Finally, they topple over on top of each other, collapsing due to their laughter. Even in the little pile, they keep laughing, their chests heaving up and down and their souls lightening.

"Wow, we have a knack for coincidences," Lorcan finally says, underneath Dom, being the first of the two to stop laughing.

"We do," Dom agrees.

After a hearty Christmas breakfast, Dom leaves.

"Oh yeah, one last thing," Lorcan adds at the end. "Check your book for a note!"

"Oh yeah, you too!" She replies, waving, and hobbling back to her flat.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Lorcan:<em>

_I hope you like this. I thought you might enjoy _The Odysseus _since you often speak of the Ancient Greeks. Also, I hope your family is well, and that our friendship may continue into the next year._

_I hope it's not too awkward for me to say, but how does the prospects of a date sound? A real date, mind you, not some casual friends thing. Life isn't always easy, but you always seem to be smiling and there for others. Life really isn't easy._

_You're honestly the nicest person I've ever met, and my mother's always told me to follow what I feel inside, so._

_Best,_

_DW_

* * *

><p><em>Dear Dominique,<em>

_I got you _The Odysseus _since you seem to love the classical literature of the Muggles. Hopefully we can both read it after I somehow get a copy of this – this is a limited edition, mind you! – and we can talk about it! I also hope that the Weasleys are well._

_Truth is, you're one of the most compassionate people I've ever met, and whenever I'm with you, I just feel exponentially happier. I know I may not be as handsome or even as smart as some other guys, but I really hope you will give me a chance when I say that I maybe love you? I mean, I've always tried to follow what I feel inside, so._

_-Lorcan_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review if you read it! NGF members, you get points for reviewing!**

**Please don't**** favourite/alert without reviewing, thank you =]**


	8. but that's crazy

**Title: **But That's Crazy

**Pairing: **Albus/Scorpius

**Author: **Sid (loras-tyrells)

**For: **Kat (Kats in socks)

* * *

><p>"Look at your face Albus, you're blushing," Rose laughed. Her feet were propped up on the arm of the chair she was sitting in. Her back lay against the other and she tilted her head to the side to look at her red faced cousin. "You don't need to be so embarrassed about it, I'm truly not surprised," she stated. She looked at her nails and assessed her cuticles.<p>

"I'm not embarrassed," Albus hissed.

Rose chuckled, she turned her head to him again, "that's why you are sat there looking like you're about to poo yourself."

He glared at the red head and uncrossed his arms, relaxing his posture, "how did you find out, anyway?" he asked.

"What? That you're in love with your best friend? So cliché, Albie, really," Rose replied, she sent him a huge grin. "I didn't, it was really a hit or miss question, but of course I notice the way you look at him. You are my best friend, yaknow?"

Albus continued to redden. Rose hadn't even known the truth, and knowing her, Albus knew she'd probably tell Scorpius, just to see how he would react. She liked doing things like that – meddling. Rose the meddler.

"Don't tell him," Albus said, pleading was evident in his voice.

Rose sighed, "now what kind of person do you think I am? Anyway, it's not like he'd believe me, it's not like you're gay. Well besides for Scorpius, you aren't gay, right? Because then my whole life would have been a lie, and I wouldn't be impressed."

"I don't know!" he shouted, frustrated. He really didn't. All he knew was that he loved Scorpius and had for a long time. "Shut up!" he added for extra measure, Rose only cackled.

"Do you have to be such a big girls blouse about it? Yes, I know. No, I won't tell him, you will," she winked and her feet twisted from the arms and in a split second she was sitting on the armchair properly.

Albus's throat tightened, "I'll tell him?" he said to nobody in particular.

Rose nodded enthusiastically, poking her cousin's leg with her finger. He jolted and looked up at her, "of course you will. You aren't known as Mr Confident for nothing."

He bit back a remark. He was.

"I won't." Albus replied with finality. "I couldn't do that, not when my friendship's on the line. What if you were in love with Lorcan and he didn't love you back?" Albus asked, mentioning Rose's other best mate.

She thought momentarily, "well, at least I wouldn't have to hide the truth anymore, even if things got awkward. You never know, Albus! It could work in your favour!"

"I doubt it, when was it ever a good idea to like your straight best friend?" he replied, looking at his knees again.

Rose rolled her eyes, "well you won't know until you take the jump, will you?" she said, as if it were obvious.

"Forget it, Rose. You don't understand because you have Dornan, and it was easy for you, you didn't have to hope, you just knew."

She frowned, wanting to reply, but Albus quickly got up and moved to the Boys dormitories, leaving his cousin slightly annoyed.

…

"I have an idea," Scorpius started, his hands were folded together and leaning against one of the tables in the library. He had a couple of books in front of him, one which Albus was skim-reading.

"What a surprise," Albus replied sarcastically, his eyes not moving from the book. "Is it as idiotic as the last one?" he asked.

Scorpius snorted, "my ideas are never idiotic, they are ingenious, you're the idiot."

Albus' eyes flicked up, looking Scorpius directly in his grey eyes, "how on earth is giving Peeves dung bombs unique or ingenious? It was the stupidest idea for a prank I ever heard of."

"And you can think of something better?"

"Yes! You are so unoriginal, Scorpius," he replied, he pushed the book that he was reading to Scorpius. "Now this is original stuff," he said with a nod.

Scorpius looked down with a frown, he read through it and rolled his eyes, "concealed objects, illusioned objects, tricks, doesn't sound that amazing, to me."

"That's because you are an amateur. Some of the best pranks are the simplest of pranks," he nodded and took the book back and shut it. "It's all about distraction, if you have your audience focus on something else, you can get away with almost anything, trust me on that one. We managed to set an army of gnomes on Uncle Ron, we lured him out to the garden because we'd been making a racket, distracted him with freshly barbecued hamburgers, and then it looked completely innocent on our part when the gnomes started to chase him because we'd stuffed their mushrooms in his pockets. Now that was a diversion, it worked very well. It took him months to find out how it actually went down."

"Fine," Scorpius replied with a sigh, "then what do you think?" he asked.

"It's our final week at school, we've got to go out with a bang, right? Something incredible, and we need the right distraction. Say someone has a prophetic episode, or they become a human firework. Something interesting, but the point is, it will attract attention, but won't get anyone in trouble. It also has to be subtle in a sense, because if the distraction is too obvious, of course it looks planned."

The blonde sighed and leaned back, "this is going to be a long night, did you at least bring snacks?"

Albus watched his friends movements, he grinned and sifted through his bag and took out a box of chocolate frogs, tossing one to Scorpius and opening one himself. Albus looked down, being careful not to be caught staring at his best mate.

…

They had a plan.

Inspired by his Uncles exploits, Albus had the idea to create a miniature wildlife sanctuary on the Fifth Floor. It would have trees, little ponds encompassing the whole floor and as many animals as they could get their hands on. However, they needed a distraction for the delivery of the various animals – ducks, squirrels, rabbits, et cetera.

If they distracted all the students in the Great Hall, the noise that would occur because of their distraction could cover the sound of quacking and other animal sounds, and it would also mean nobody would leave the Hall, allowing for a group of chosen Seventh years to bring the animals up to the Fifth Floor.

The distraction was to have Clarence Boot fail at a hair growing charm – which he often did. And have his cat begin to sprout loads of hair, naturally, everyone would be amused, laughing at his misfortune, the teachers would jump to the rescue, and be temporarily engaged.

Albus thought it was the perfect plan.

He'd had it all down to a tee.

What he didn't expect was for Clarence to duck out in the middle of the whole plan. In fact, Clarence had promised he wouldn't, and everything was dependent on him.

Albus was panicking. He didn't want to be known as Albus – the boy who failed that one prank.

He looked over at Scorpius who was biting his lip worriedly. "What are we supposed to do, Albus?" he asked in a whisper.

"We need another distraction," Albus replied, he looked around him and stood up from his position on the bench.

"What?" Scorpius asked, he got up after him, trying to look at what Albus was looking at.

He wasn't thinking. Well he was, he was thinking about a distraction, any distraction good enough to get an audience. It wasn't logical, but then was anything he did, ever?

Scorpius was frozen.

Albus was kissing him and there were gasps throughout the hall, all eyes were on them, every single pair of eyes belonging to every person present there. It was seconds, people waiting, when Albus stepped back, knowing that the time was enough, whispering started, people escaped through the Hall doors, obviously to spread the gossip and Scorpius was staring at Albus, his cheeks red.

The green eyed boy looked away, he was biting down on his lip now, and he caught the eye of Rose. She was staring at them both, her mouth slightly ajar.

Scorpius continued to look at Albus, his breathing stuttering slightly and wondering what to say, what to think.

"What was," he couldn't quite finish his question, his eyes scanned the side of Albus' face. He watched him turn and they looked each other in the eyes. Albus' were full of fear, his eyes wide and still biting at his lip.

"I…a distraction," Albus managed weakly, "you always need a good distraction," he continued, his voice cracked lightly.

Scorpius scratched his stubbled cheek, "kissing your best mate isn't usually the first distraction that pops into a person's head."

Albus swallowed, both embarrassed and frightened, he decided to feign nonchalance with a shrug, "worked, didn't it?"

"I don't think that's the point Albus," Scorpius replied, his eyes moving over to the faces that were still staring at them, they still standing in the middle of the Hall. "This'll be all over the school in a couple of hours. I don't think you'll appreciate them thinking you're gay, will you?" he asked, he sighed and folded his arms, waiting for agreement from Albus. When he didn't receive any reply, he turned to his best friend, who was looking down at the table. "Albus?"

The green-eyed boy didn't reply, he just looked into the bowl of mashed potatoes, wishing that he hadn't done what he had done. Wishing he could lie it all away. He counted to 10 before he looked at his best friend again, he looked confused, but he shook his head at the blonde, "we should go see the carnage, it's probably spectacular," he said, feigning charisma and moving from the table and towards the door.

"But Al," Scorpius said after him, clumsily climbing from the bench and chasing after his friend. Albus was practically sprinting to the door, Scorpius close behind him.

When Albus had opened the door and swiftly exited, Scorpius grabbed onto his arm. Before Albus had even thought about what he was doing, he had pressed his lips against Scorpius' again. The blonde boy's eyes grew, his cheeks being held in the grip of the slightly shorter boy.

Albus' eyes were squeezed tightly, he wasn't thinking properly, he knew that. But he didn't care, he just wanted to feel Scorpius' lips against his own, at least one more time. He milked the situation for all it was worth.

Scorpius didn't know quite what to think, he should have been backing away, but he liked it. Albus' lips against his own were gentle, even if he was gripping his jaw with force. His hands, which were slightly up in defence, relaxed, one hand reaching up and grabbing onto the wrist of Albus, the other hanging by his side. He closed his eyes, easing into the feel of the kiss, not thinking about anything else.

Albus' eyes blinked open, Scorpius was kissing him back, and the longer they continued, the more fervent he was.

It was Albus who broke the kiss, not taking a step back, just staring up at his best friend, his hands still held against Scorpius' cheeks.

There was silence between the two, they only shared intense looks, their positions frozen as if daring each other to make the first move, to say the first thing.

"I think one of us should say something," Scorpius started. Albus was crimson, and Scorpius watched his expression, "and not something inappropriate," he eyed his best mate, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"Well if you already know what I'm going to say, it won't make a difference." Albus replied with a light laugh, Scorpius rolled his eyes. Albus stopped smiling and shrugged his shoulders, rubbing his lips together and his hands dropped from Scorpius' face and twisted by his sides. "Well, what do you think?"

Scorpius scratched his head, "I don't know. I just know that it was kind of…nice," he commented, his expression confused.

Albus' eyebrows went up and he couldn't help feeling slightly elated, he felt his heartbeat speed up considerably and he smiled again. He felt his confidence come back to him, and his hand gripped onto Scorpius', "let's continue then," he smirked and Scorpius couldn't help laughing, allowing his best friend to lead him down the hall, both teens not caring about the various eyes that had been watching them the entire time, mouths open and eyes wide.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review if you read it! NGF members, you get points for reviewing!**

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	9. while we're still burning bright

**Pairing:**Lucy/Lorcan  
><strong>Author:<strong>Chi (unwrite)  
><strong>For:<strong>Dri (Skandar-Loves-Redvines)  
><strong>Notes: <strong>All grammatical errors have been done purposefully.

* * *

><p><strong>while we're still burning bright<strong>

The night's one of those pitch-black ones but there are countless stars that give it light and silhouetted in the grounds are an awkwardly lanky blonde boy and a shorter girl with darker curls that are slightly out of place and a pale face that's set on going somewhere, on doing something. "What are we doing, Lucy? They'll catch us and it's late and we really shouldn't-" But she gives him a funny look that he doesn't really understand and she continues walking and it's kind of creeping him out if he's being perfectly honest but he follows her like he always does.

"Luce, are you okay?" his hand reaches out to her shoulder as if to hold her back from doing anything stupid but really who does he even think he's helping because she's never been one for reckless plans and spur-of-the-moment decisions and it's not like she's going to rush off and throw herself into the lake or something. No she wouldn't do that because then what would have been the point of bringing her broomstick along? "Where's your sense of adventure, Lorcan?" Don't you want to do something just before we leave here don't you want just one thing that you can look back on and say oh I did that because I was young and crazy and it was fun and that was reason enough back in the good days_._ Except she leaves that last part out because that's a bit too deep an insight to her thoughts and no one really needs to know that much about what Lucy's thinking except for Lucy, really.

She's mounting her broom next second and saying come on Lorcan don't you want to do something fun for a change Lorcan we never do anything fun and he knows her well enough to tell that the strange tone in her voice is the same one that comes right before she cries and he can't for the life of him figure out why she would cry but he knows what he hears and he keeps his mouth closed and nods. "Alright Luce where are we headed" and he gets on the broom behind her and she kicks off and doesn't speak so he sighs a little to himself as the cold air rushes past them and he hears a little watery hiccough coming from the girl in front of him and all that's going through his head is what on Earth happened and have I missed something and he thinks back on what's happened recently but he can't remember doing or saying anything stupid so really he's stumped.

"_Lucy,"_

And she stops in midair turning around to look at him and her eyes are red and her face has tear tracks crawling over it and he sort of forgets where they are and he reaches his arms around her for a hug and says it's okay Lucy it'll be okay and nothing's wrong Lucy alright? And he even strokes her hair a little bit and when she's calmed down enough he sort of remembers that they're suspended fifty feet above the ground on a small wooden stick and he figures that's probably not the best place to be so he reaches his arms around her to grip the broom properly and he leads it towards the castle but she says no oh I don't want to go back in there not yet and he says don't worry Luce we won't and she says okay then and puts her face back in his chest and he guides the broom toward a roof near some odd small tower that no one ever really goes to.

The two of them awkwardly clamber off the broom and the roof is rough so there's a scuff or two on their knees and a bit of a scrape on his hand but neither of them notice anyway and they sit down together and it's still an overly emotional teenage girl in the arms of a clueless boy just the same scene except now they're on a roof instead of in midair and that seems a bit safer so he decides to ask Luce you know you've got to tell me what's in your head because I'm really confused right now and she almost smiles a bit because he's the same old Lorcan after all these years and she says yes okay yes you're right okay I will then but it's a bit hard because I'm not entirely sure what's in my head but it doesn't come out exactly like how she wants it because there are sniffles in between what she says and she sounds pathetic she knows it but she continues anyway.

"It's just you know we're going to be leaving this place in a week Lorcan are you ready to leave here in a week because I'm not okay I'm really not and you know what happens after that when we go home we've got to start living like properly living in the real world and I don't think I can I really don't Lorcan I'm not ready for the real world" I want to stay here at Hogwarts where our biggest worry is whether we'll win the next Quidditch match or if we've done well enough on our homework to get a decent grade Lorcan I want to stay here forever do you know. Except she leaves that last part out because it sounds a bit stupid, really.

He opens his mouth to speak and he runs his hands through his mop of dirty blonde hair and then "Lorcan do you see what we've done we've wasted our time here and we've done nothing special and there's nothing to remember us by you know like there's nothing that we can come back years later and say oh that's us and we did that or we started that you know there's nothing" and she knows she's not really explaining herself very well at all but she hopes oh she hopes he understands what she's trying to say oh does he?

"Yes Lucy I see what you mean but you know what we can fix that we've got a week and a week's a long time you know there's a lot you can do in a week" and he smiles at her a little bit and she says do you promise we'll do something do you and he says yes of course I promise. Of course.

And they stayed out until quite late that night rarely speaking mostly thinking really but they were both smiling by the time they left each other and it wasn't the night they did anything special or crazy and it wasn't even the night he first kissed her (that would come later) in fact, it was the night that both of them could look back on and confidently say they did absolutely nothing of importance but it was the first night that was really properly theirs. And in a way that was sort of something special in itself.

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><p><strong>an: please don't favourite without leaving a review, thanks.**


	10. tricks of the heart

**pairing: **rose/scorpius  
><strong>author:<strong> cate (cutecudlyme)  
><strong>for:<strong> jane (not-gonna-grow-up)

* * *

><p><em>"She's engaged to Lysander. They're going to get married."<em>

Scorpius didn't understand at first why it hurt him so much. He didn't know why the news of their engagement made him so upset.

After all, Rose had every right to get married. She was at liberty to get married to anyone, wasn't she?

Whatever had happened between him and Rose was over. They had not been happy together. Their history was now forgotten, and they had moved on.

So why, after all this, _why_ was he feeling this way? Why did he want to hit Lysander in the head whenever they met? Why was he actually hoping for the opposite when he congratulated them for their engagement and when he wished them to be happy together? Why was he thinking of her all the _damn_ time? There was only one explanation, and he just didn't want to face it.

He still loved her. A part of him still cared for her; no matter how small or how afraid that part was, it still did. He couldn't deny it, even though he never admitted it to himself.

Whether he had always loved Rose and hadn't realized it till now, or whether this love had been rekindled after seeing her again after so many years, were questions he couldn't even answer. All he knew was that he was starting to fall for the red-curled and blue eyed Rose Weasley. Again. And that it possibly couldn't lead to anything good.

-:-

Maybe it was his imagination. But as far as he could see, Rose was nowhere near as happy as she should have been with her engagement. In addition, she was gloomy most of the time and had lost much of her former cheerfulness. It was clear that her whole family was happy for her, and none of them noticed her odd behavior. But he thought Rose didn't seem to be too excited to talk about wedding dresses with her Aunts, or to discuss the decorations for 'the big day' with her Mother.

Then again, he may well be imagining everything, and seeing things the way he wanted to see them.

The heart can also play tricks on you sometimes.

It was under this dilemma of Rose's behavior that he was watching her and Lysander talking on the sofa after dinner one night at the Burrow. Lysander was actually the one doing the talking, and Rose was listening to him with a disinterested air, only giving a strained smile or nod when necessary.

Suddenly, she caught his eye looking at her. In the fraction of a second when their eyes met, her mouth gave a small twitch. But in the next second, she pulled Lysander towards her, interrupting him mid-sentence, and started snogging him in front of everyone.

Anger boiled inside his chest, and he resisted the urge to get up and pull that bastard away from her. He turned his face away from them and gave his full attention to Lily and Albus talking beside him in the dinner table.

Afterwards, he reluctantly thought that maybe it _was_ his imagination.

-:-

He noticed how she slipped past and hardly spoke ten words to him in the next few days. And that made him _want_ to talk to her so much more. He was slightly confused as to what to say, but he was determined to get her guard down somehow.

It wasn't until the next weekend that he got any opportunity. The Burrow was full of people with the entire family and a few friends present. It was exactly one week before the wedding. There were so many people that it was hard to notice anyone in particular, though it didn't take him long to realize that Rose wasn't anywhere in the house.

He found her in the garden sitting alone, gazing up at the stars and engrossed in her thoughts.

They did talk, however. He _made_ her talk. Since he knew her in and out, he did the one thing that he thought would soften her up the most. He took a walk down memory lane with her; memories of all the time they had spent together.

He had forgotten how easy it was to talk to her. They talked like old friends meeting after many years. And that was all they were. Old friends.

Reminiscing the past, they forgot the present. For many minutes, there was an occasional outburst like "Do you remember the time when Albus snogged _Turpin_ when he was drunk?" or, "Do you remember when we played Quidditch against each other and I beat you?" "Don't flatter yourself, Weasley. I let you win", or even "Oh, you remember the time all of us sneaked into the Shrieking Shack in the middle of the night?"

But they really couldn't live in the past forever now, could they?

And like always, he was the one who brought them to the present; to reality. After a short silence, when they seemed to have run out of good memories, he said in a kind of rush, "Look Rose. I know things didn't work out between you and me." She snapped her head towards him, but he continued without pausing, "Even if they didn't work out, I still do care about you. And…if you ever need a friend, you know you can always rely on me."

He felt that he had said it all. She, on the other hand, felt a lot of things at once. Guilt, shame, realization, frustration everything peaked, and she responded by doing the first thing that she could think of. She kissed him.

And of course, he kissed her back.

But she was Rose_ bloody _Weasley, and this was wrong. So, she stopped, horror-stuck at what she was doing. She looked at his bewildered face for a moment before rushing to the door of the Burrow without answering any of his questions.

And like always, he was the one left staring at the door and thinking _"what the hell had just happened"._

-:-

She avoided him all week. He wanted to know why. He wanted to know why she had no answers to his questions. Damn, he wanted to know why she had kissed him in the first place and had to go and make things so complicated.

Before he knew it, the day had arrived. And before he knew it, Albus had dragged him to the wedding and he found himself sitting on a bench and straining his neck like everyone to look at the bride. His heart squirmed when he saw her walk down that aisle. The sun was shining on her red locks making them golden, her dazzling white dress was framing her slender body; she was looking beautiful as usual. Everything seemed perfect at that moment.

Only this was imperfect because it wasn't _him_. It was wrong because it wasn't _him_ she was walking to. It wasn't _him_ she was standing next to; it was just the wrong blonde boy.

The vows were stated. He was half listening. But soon enough, the time for her "I do" came, and just a little too late, he realized he couldn't watch this.

He stood up abruptly, and started walking towards the other side of the marquee. Eyes turned to him, but only for a second. Everyone was watching the bride too intensely. But the bride herself was watching_him._ Questioning glances and confused murmurs escaped everyone, but she ignored them.

He was now walking fast; unaware of what was going on behind him.

Then, a shaky but determined voice said, "Scorpius, wait. Don't go."

And he stopped.

-:-

He was standing on the hillside, looking at the never-ending greenery and the Burrow in the middle, wondering what was going on there.

Suddenly, there was some movement to his right, and the red-haired figure appeared next to him.

After a few silent moments, he gave her a sideways glance, and said, "You know what you did wasn't your best choice."

"Did what?" she asked, and he was sure she was raising her eyebrows. "Kiss you behind my fiance's back or kiss you in front of my future husband and my entire family? Wow, Scor. I never thought _you'd_ be telling me this."

He couldn't help it. He smiled, looking at her fully now. She looked tired and irritated, but as pretty as she had been the last morning.

He took her face in his hands, and kissed her softly. After pulling apart, he said, "Everything's gonna be alright."

She nodded, burying her face in his chest.

They both knew everything was going to be alright anyway. After all, they _were_ Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy. And they could really fight the whole world; as long as they were together.

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><p><strong>an: please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thank you!**


	11. gladly beyond

**title:** gladly beyond  
><strong>pairing:<strong> Rose/Scorpius  
><strong>author:<strong> May (Reciprocal)  
><strong>for:<strong> Alice (watching stiricide) hope you like it dear! :D

* * *

><p><strong><span>gladly beyond<span>**

.

They meet every day, 7 o'clock sharp, in the library, third table from the back, hidden between the stacks with a perfect view of the pitch. He sits there because he can watch for Albus coming back from Quidditch practice and know it's time for Prefect Rounds. She sits there because, well, that's where he is isn't it?

Every night its hard wooden benches and the rustling of crumbling pages. He might rise to light another torch, knowing that Rose will continue struggling read even in pitch darkness, never mind the way her red curls gleam gold in the candlelight. And for her part Rose ducks her head and holds her breath, pretending that she doesn't notice the way his shirt rises just a few inches up his abdomen as he stretches. Because that really would ruin their friendship wouldn't it?

She might clear her throat of the spicy smell of him, and he may let his eyes flicker up at the excuse to look at her.

And for an hour, sometimes two, it's almost like peace.

.

She has always loved words.

She remembers tracing them in her mum's book when she was too little to read, fascinated by their loops and fantastical curves.

When she grew old enough to speak she reveled in the jumble of them in her mouth, spilling out in a rush and tumbling effortlessly over each other.

But even with all the words she has seen or heard or dreamed of cannot begin to describe Scorpius Malfoy and the _lookatme_ that his eyes compel out of her.

.

She's alone in the library for most of the day on weekends. Oh yes, she has friends, and oh yes she has family. But she doesn't really know where they disappear off to when they're sick of her and in the library everything seems to melt away until it's simply her, her books, and sometimes him.

She'll sit, eyes burning down at the pages in front of her, until she feels his presence slid across from her.

His eyes will quirk a smile at her, and her heart will stop, just once, before he initiates the conversation, "It's always amazing that you haven't gotten booted out for talking yet."

But unlike the twang she gets in her stomach when she overhears Dom or James telling her to shut up, her stomach flips with an entirely different emotion.

She wonders if Albus told him to find her. If everyone's looking for her and it was only he who knew where she went when she wanted to be alone.

Then the words that usually come so naturally are stuck somewhere in her eyes and, as she looked into his, words seem hardly enough.

.

She thinks sometimes she could keep him, that she could capture his bright mind essence within her clenched hands and not spill a drop for anyone else. But that would selfish, wouldn't it? And she knows he could never be confined like that. He is Apollo, racing across the sky, and she is Hestia, stuck at the hearth.

He might be Apollo, but he is no golden boy, she knows that.

He is a shining silver prince, as his father never could be, and she is stuck in the body of a frizzy ginger, perpetually clutching a cat and struggling with baggy maroon sweaters and a family legacy just as cumbersome.

She never has trouble describing just how unlikely _she_ is.

.

"You know, you are surprisingly depressing for such a gossip."

Rose's eyebrows quirk together as she tries to put on an annoyed front. She places her hands delicately on the table in front of her, realizing just then that she had been gesturing rather violently. Well, Jennie's hair had been _rather_ large.

He continues as if he hadn't interrupted her re-telling of that afternoon's latest scandal, "It's the way you phrase things, at least around me, you make everything sound almost poetic and maudlin."

Rose tries not to blush at his "at least, not around me." But then she always been awful at containing herself around him and her cheeks subsequently redden.

She distracts herself by replying hotly, "Poetry isn't necessarily depressing! Just look at e.e. cummings, his poems are lovely!"

Scorpius raises a pale eyebrow, "Edgar Allen Poe, Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, hell even Shakespeare!'

"Shakespeare was a romantic," Rose replies stubbornly.

"Is that what you are?"

She doesn't know what she is around him, but it feels like so much _more_ that she has to reply with a hint of her normal obliviousness for fear she find herself floating away from the attentiveness of his gaze.

She could be brave, in this instance. She _could_ tell the truth, that it is only around him that she finds herself wishing for grand gestures and romantic ideals, but that would be far too Lily for her liking and if he turned away from her in that instant she didn't know how she could bear it.

"I'm a seventeen year old female, Scorpius, you should know that my kind demand romance."

Scorpius barks out a laugh and traces imaginary lines on her essay, "Then have you thought of writing your poeticism down Rosie? If I buy you a journal next Hogsmeade trip?" Because he's braver than she is, if only in this small way.

She finds herself nodding, not wanting to break the fragile promise his words entail with superfluous conversation.

He sees the happiness in her eyes and cannot begin to regret the impulse.

.

The bell rings the end of Divination interrupting Rose midsentence.

"Come on, finish up on your way to Defense," Lucy pulls her sleeve to hurry her out and Rose catches the tail end of a sigh and her put upon face before it rearranges into an attentive expression.

Rose pauses rather than continue, in all honesty she can hardly remember what she was in the middle of telling Lucy, was it truly that newsworthy? Sensing an escape Lucy has already turned to greet Roxanne who falls into line next to Lucy.

The halls are a crush of students jostling, shouting, and laughing and suddenly Rose feels so very small. She jerks to a halt, looking down in curiosity at the pale hand that's pulled her away from Lucy and Roxanne. Scorpius has rolled his sleeves up and Rose can just make out the lines of muscle under his forearms before she averts her eyes and stifles indecent thoughts.

Instead she grins up at his lidded eyes giggling as she realizes his hair is tousled from an impromptu nap in Trelawney's. He sends a quick sleepy smile at her before darting a look around and pulling her into a side corridor. And it hits her like a sudden jolt to the chest how much she misses him outside their little corner of the library.

She looks up again to see him glancing down at her again, something shining in his eyes that manifests in his voice when explains, "No time like the present, yeah?"

It's only when she sees the familiar figure of a one-eyes witch that she realizes he means to drag her to Hogsmeade, and wonders what it says about her that she let him get this far without question. She might as well admit to herself, if no one else, that she would let Scorpius Malfoy get away with dragging her many more places than simply Hogsmeade.

The look in his eyes is also familiar, and she allows her eyes to sweep over the comforting planes of his face recognizing the set of his jaw as particularly determined and the satisfied quirk of his mouth when he notices that she won't protest them skiving off lessons.

And it's a mix of new and old as she lowers herself down the rabbit hole behind him, her heart beating frantically with both the accustomed fear of capture and something much more as well.

.

The little bookshop is almost stifling with its towering bookshelves spaced only feet apart. Rose quickly turns into another of the long winded corridors as she hears one creak ominously under the weight of its cargo.

Still, she loves the small dusty sanctuary the store provides and every Hogsmeade trip she has found herself nestled in some nook of books while her cousins shout and gallop to her uncle's shop on the main street. Even now with rain drumming outside and her hair damply curling she's overwhelmed and comforted by the smell of dusty tomes and the soft padding of her feet in the otherwise silent store. Somewhere Scorpius is drying himself near the fireplace and she's wrapped in his jumper from a well-meaning gesture of chivalry as they tried to dodge the rain from Honeydukes. Her hair prickles against her neck as the smell the scent of him rises off the damp jumper and she composes her face before stepping back to the front of the store, holding out the plain leather notebook out like an offering.

Rose finds him huddled over something at the register, which he stuffs into his back pocket, straightening as she wanders towards him. She lets her eyes sneak towards him as she trails fingers over the worn wood sheltering a collection of used books. A corner of soft dark green suede peeks out of his trousers as he slides her new notebook and a handful of coins across to the bored witch at the register. Scorpius has never been much of a reader, preferring to listen to her retellings of stories or Albus' prattling rather than speak up of experiences himself. And surely he should have found her a comrade if he had suddenly taken an interest in books but instead he tucked her package and her under an arm and led them out once more into the pouring rain.

"Let's wait it out at the Broomsticks, yeah?" he shouts over the roar and she nods back, spluttering over the water rolling down her face.

It's only after stepping into the heat of the Three Broomsticks does she notice that Scorpius had grabbed her hand in the rain, and its only as it slips out of hers that she misses it. It is true then, it seems, that you never know what it is you have until you want it with every beat of your heart.

Her fingers itch for her new journal, and her heart aches a little more with these reactions that are overwhelming her in the warmth and intimacy of Scorpius' gaze. And suddenly the idea of sharing such private moments with anyone else revolts her and she can't bear the thought of it slipping out of her with all the other trash she spews about every mundane day.

So it's only once they've settled into a booth and received their butterbeer that she allows her eyes to settle upon him once more and he blushes as he blurts out, "Sorry."

She blinks in surprise, as much for him speaking before her than what he said, "What for?"

He waves expansively, "This. The rain. I thought it would be a quick jaunt out and I know I'm keeping you from your study."

She smiles at them then, pulling the sleeves of his jumper down over her palms again, "Can't be bothered to control the weather Malfoy? I'd have thought you were at least good for that!"

This gets him laughing and he beams at her, inviting her to shine with him.

They sit in companionable silence reminiscent of their corner in the library, until Rose raises her arm for another butterbeer and gasps, "Oh no! I'm so sorry."

She's staring horrified where the cuffs of Scorpius' jumper are hanging around her wrists. In her absentminded pulling the edges have molded themselves to the heel of her hand and are misshapen and limp.

Scorpius pulls them across the table a good-natured smile flickering around his mouth at her expression. He arm gets pulled as well, awkwardly bumping into the wood and he gives her elbow an absentminded rub as he fiddles the wool around the bulge.

"No matter, it's hardly noticeable Rose!" he reassures her. Flipping her her hand over to expose her palm he briefly touches the very edge of her fingertips with his before drawing them back and tucking his hands under the table.

"nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands"

"What?" Rose looks up still shaken over the feel of him. There is a strange cadence to his voice, as though the words are not his but he owns them in some indescribable way.

He simply shakes his head smiling down at her and it is impossible not to smile back.

.

He lets her keep the sweater, and Rose waits until she is safely up the dormitory and far from any prying eyes to tie the abused sleeves around her as if they could be his arms.

Scorpius waits until he is safely on the edge of sleep and far away from any conscious thought before wishing he could wrap around her and tangle in the moonlight.

.

It's in History of Magic that she sees the green suede cover again, and recognizes the worn book from a shelf in the book shop. She remembers running her knuckles over it once in second year but for the life of her she cannot remember what it contained.

But something is wrong as she recognizes tension in Scorpius' shoulders and in the way he hides it from sight when Al thumps into the seat next to him.

Curiosity gets the better of her so she waits for him after class, and they are far far away from any library, and finds him sweeping past her without the merest flicker of recognition.

She tries to ignore the dull thud of her chest that grows stronger with irrational fear and again when he sees him laughing and chatting up a Ravenclaw at lunch.

Because he only really, _truly_ talks to her doesn't he?

.

He doesn't appear in the library that night.

.

She doesn't even wait the next

.

When she sees his ducking out of their corner on the third day, hours before 7 o'clock sharp, she wonders how everything could have collapsed so completely. She hadn't even known there had been anything; otherwise surely she could have protected it better.

But something in her chest feels different and it might as well be her heart. She doesn't even notice as she piles gossip upon tale on her poor cousin's ears disregarding their truth until she's gasping for a real conversation, because that was what Scorpius had offered. And then he had closed her up and withdrawn that offer just as she had known it enough to miss.

.

It takes four more days before he cannot bear the silence any longer.

.

She walks into the library five minutes later than seven almost hoping she doesn't see his light hair glinting under the torchlight, never mind the swoop of her stomach as she turns into their corner and finds the table occupied. There isn't a sight of him but she knows by the ubiquitous green paperback, the familiar eagle feather quill lying beside an empty inkwell, and of course that heady leap her heart takes at the sight of his long looping writing covering a piece of parchment.

She lets her bag slide down her arm to the ground as she traces over the words, not noticing the ink that smudges the very tips of her fingers blue. The suede feels electric, every sensation magnified in her dreamlike state, as she flips it over from where its lying face down on the table. She brushes back the curling edges as she lets it fall open to the passage she knows has been haunting Scorpius. For books never lie and the pages reflect the number of times they have been read, as if whoever had been reading it had treasured the words left on its pages.

And here are the words she has been searching for, here they are, all so new and familiar at the same time and when she reaches, '_your slightest look easily will unclose me'_ she finally has a word for what her body is doing right in that moment. Unclosing, _unclosing_ as if it were so simple. As if she had simply been a drawer that had been shut for so long it had forgotten why it existed, to _open_.

At the end she mouths the words along and knows the only line left off the parchment at her fingertips. The ink, knowingly had run out with the strength of the words before and had hardly any for that one last line.

"_nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands"_

She knows with that knowledge of being suddenly _unclosed_ when he returns, new ink in hand and old love in eyes.

She swallows and wonders and doesn't look up until she reads the title again, _'somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond' _and touches the _e.e. cummings _that comes after and knows what he has done, and what they are.

They are beyond.

There are no words for it, but that doesn't mean they will ever stop searching. They have the unknown, they have the wordless, they have the joy in the questioning. They have it and it is theirs and what does it matter that they cannot name it without such beautiful silence.

He seems to crash through space and time and the light of a thousand golden suns (or are they silver moons?) explodes as he reaches her and it is oh so gentle and harsh and she can hardly bear it and so she presses her lips to his and surrenders. She takes and he gives (or is it the other way around?) and he finds her hands and presses them to his heart and she feels it beating as free and open as hers.

so so gladly _beyond_.

.

_somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond_

_any experience,your eyes have their silence:_

_in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,_

_or which i cannot touch because they are too near_

_your slightest look easily will unclose me_

_though i have closed myself as fingers,_

_you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens_

_(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose_

_or if your wish be to close me, i and_

_my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,_

_as when the heart of this flower imagines_

_the snow carefully everywhere descending;_

_nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals_

_the power of your intense fragility:whose texture_

_compels me with the color of its countries,_

_rendering death and forever with each breathing_

_(i do not know what it is about you that closes_

_and opens;only something in me understands_

_the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)_

_nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands_

_e.e. cummings_

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><p>please don't favourite without leaving a review, thanks!<p> 


	12. Damn, The World is Broken

**title:** Damn, The World is Broken  
><strong>character:<strong> Dominique  
><strong>author:<strong> Jill (Pole's Jar of Split Worms)  
><strong>for:<strong> Listen (fabricated fantasies)

* * *

><p><strong>Damn, The World is Broken<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Knock, knock.<em>

_Who's there?_

-:-

"Miss Weasley!"

-:-

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

-:-_  
><em>

A whimper is heard. Something is thrown at the door.

"Go away!"

-:-

_What has happened?_

_All this over…_

-:-

"Miss—_Dominique_, I understand that you're upset, but you're really overreacting—"

"No, you don't. You don't understand. _Just go away_."

"_Please_," she adds as an afterthought. "Go away."

-:-

_Her eyes look like glass._

_She falls to the ground._

-:-

"Dominique, I demand you open this door right—!"

Dominique scrambles, tripping over herself; snatches up her wand from her desk and screams "_Reducto!_" at the door. It explodes.

"There!_ HAPPY_?"

_You evil bitch. Happy now? Was it really necessary that you see my face _right now_?_

-:-_  
><em>

It's not polite to force your presence upon someone who is already in pain. Such is selfishness, incidentally.

-:-

"No one lives against—"

"_Don't._ My uncle is Harry Freakin' Potter, and you…_you've got the audacity to tell me no one survives the Killing Curse_?"

-:-

"_VICTOIRE!"_

-:-

Most don't know. How they never leave you.

The people you watched die.

She still has nightmares.

-:-

"Forgive her, ma'am. She's mentally ill. We have to get her back to St. Mungo's."

-:-

She's not ill.

They didn't watch their sister be murdered. _They _wouldn't understand.

A Hufflepuff with issues? _Must _be mental.

Why wasn't she a Slytherin, she wonders. Hufflepuffs are too cheery for her.

-:-

Tears stream down her face. If this is what she has to do for anyone to listen…

To understand the cruelty…

So be it.

-:-

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The wand is not pointed at the intruders. It is pointed at herself.

Dominique has had enough. There's only so much you can ask a person to cope with.

-:-

"I am a Weasley. Not God's incarnate, thanks. _Sorry_ it bothers me to watch my sister _killed_!"

-:-

The "sorry" part was a lie.

* * *

><p><strong>an: please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thanks.**


	13. supposed to be perfect

**title:** supposed to be perfect  
><strong>pairing:<strong> teddy/victoire  
><strong>author:<strong> Roma (justalittle l o o n y)  
><strong>for:<strong> Maddi (Allons-y Alonzo)

* * *

><p>"Practically perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their thinking. " -Mary Poppins<p>

* * *

><p>When she first appears on his doorstep, he has to check twice to make sure that she is indeed Victoire. Her blonde hair, normally in uniform ringlets, is stringy and unkempt from the rain. Her mascara is running in black trails down her cheeks. Her white dress has dirt on the hem and and is torn in the shoulder. In short, her aura of perfection is shattered- he falls back in love with her on the spot.<p>

"Teddy," she murmurs, pressing herself to his chest. "Teddy, Teddy, Teddy, Teddy._ J'ai besoin de toi, je te veux, j'ai besoin de toi..._"

Using the small amount of French that Dominique has taught him, he translates that to "I want you," and he raises an eyebrow. It's only in states of pure desperation that her Veela side manifests as fluent French, and he wonders what on earth caused it. "Don't you have a girlfriend for that?" he asks dryly as he turns his back and heads into the kitchen, trying not to let the pain of being dumped for another girl show in his voice. When he gets no response, he turns around to see her on the couch. Naked.

"Well, not that this isn't a nice surprise," he says in a strangled tone, attempting to control himself. "But I really think you should return to your girlfriend."

She laughs humourlessly. "I don't have a girlfriend anymore, Teddy."

He walks over to her, trying to ignore the fact that this is the most he's ever seen from her (she always believed in sex after marriage). He opens his mouth to tell her that she really should be going, but suddenly there's something over and in his mouth, and there are hands in his hair, and he feels skin on his and-

he's doomed.

_He apparates to Victoire's door, biting his lip in apprehension. Lily has suggested that they get married, claiming that it's "so romantic," but he's not really sure he's ready yet. Heck, he's not really sure that she's ready, because being married to him probably isn't going to be the easiest thing. He can't keep a job, and even when he does, they're normally wacky jobs that aren't stable enough to support a family. He loves her, and he's fairly certain that she loves him, but a circus clown (quite literally) is never going to be enough. If she's going to be an actress, like she's always dreamed, she needs someone with a steady income, not someone whose paycheck is just as sporadic as hers._

_But they'll manage, he thinks, because neither of their families would let them starve, and love is that all-powerful substance, right? He fingers the box in his pocket and lifts his hand to knock on the door._

_But before his knuckles can so much as tap the wood, he hears a strange voice coming from inside Victoire's flat. "Toire, you've got to choose. You can't just keep toeing the line." It's female, so he assumes that it's just another of her many agents, until he hears her next sentence. "I do love you, you know that, but I just can't keep being 'the other woman.' It was fun at first, sneaking around and hoping Teddy _would_ catch us so we could sing some huge number, but now I just feel like some sort of harlot. You've got to pick one of us."_

_He can't believe what he's hearing, but he keeps listening anyway, hoping that his and her names being there are just a slip of the tongue and that they're running lines (but knowing that will never be the truth). But then Victoire's voice comes, and he knows he's doomed. "I.." he hears, and he's never heard that unsure, broken tone in her voice before so he knows he's lost her._

_Resignedly, he knocks on her door, almost smiling bitterly as he hears scuffling about and a shout of "Go hide in the bedroom!" Finally, the door opens, revealing the only girl he's ever loved, looking picture perfect as always, and smelling of a perfume he didn't buy her. "Teddy!" she says, and he thinks that she must be a brilliant actress if her look of joyful surprise looks that real. "I didn't realize you were coming over today. What brought you over?"_

_Wordlessly, he holds out the little black box so she can see it. She looks at him expectantly, clearly thinking he'll go down on one knee. "_I_ wanted to get married, Victoire, but it seems it wasn't mutual."_

_She gives him a perfectly feigned look of shock, and he shakes his head, finally allowing that bitter smile to come through. "You know, your doors are surprisingly thin, you should probably get them changed before someone hears something they shouldn't."_

_Something in her face crumbles and looks shameful, but then she selects her pitying mask. "Teddy, I'm so, so, so, sorry, I should have told you earlier, but I didn't want to hurt-"_

_"Cut the bullshit, Victoire," he interrupts, his voice getting harsh. "You didn't tell me because you thought we'd break up, and then you'd have to deal with your dad wondering why you can't keep a steady boyfriend, and then Molly would bring up her lesbian theory again, and this time he'd know it was true. It was never about _us_, Victoire, it always was about your irrational fear that no one would hire a lesbian Juliet- you don't have to worry about that now, because if you've led _me_ on this long, I doubt you'll have a problem with a two hour show!" He shakes his head in disgust._

_"I'm sorry..." she whispers, but everything else that has sounded that real has been fake, so he just slams the door in her face and storms away._

He wakes up.

Normally on a morning after a dream like that, he'd get up, make himself a cup of coffee, and somehow snap out of it. But combined with the events of last night, he's not sure it will work. Still, he can't lay in bed all day, he's got his job at the Muggle amusement park to go to. So he rolls out of bed and pulls on a pair of pants.

Drowsily, he walks into the kitchen, only to find Victoire already there, drinking her own cup and pointing to one for him. "Just black, right?" For a minute, it's just like old times, so he nods and sits down.

After a long moment filled only by sips of bitter coffee, he decides to start a conversation. "So, do you have any plans for us today, or is this going to be just a typical one night stand?" She blushes, and it occurs to him that maybe his bitterness ratio is a little disproportionate.

"Teddy..." she starts, taking a another sip of coffee. "It's not like that and you know it."

"Not like what? This wasn't a one night stand, or you're _not_ a total bitch?" The words come out a lot harsher than he intends, and she winces. "Oh, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for." It wasn't, but considering that it's the first time they've talked in six months, he decides to be nice.

"No, it wasn't," she says, and he can see her slipping back into theatre mood already. "I was wrong to come here, and I shouldn't have slept with you. It's leading you on, and that's not right." Her words are practically robotic in feel, and though he knows that they're what she's supposed to say, her perfectly crafted lines aren't going to make him feel better.

"Vic, that's what you're supposed to say," he says gently. She doesn't respond, so he continues. "I want to hear what you actually think, not what you're reading from a cue card."

There's a long pause, and for a few seconds he wonders if he pushed too hard. Maybe she just isn't capable of doing the unexpected. "I don't regret it," she finally says, and he lets out a breath of relief. Admittance. That's the first step.

"You know," he says, standing up and pulling on a shirt that's draped on an extra chair. "All this philosophical, serious stuff is great and all, but I think you need to have some fun."

"Fun?" she repeats, wrinkling her nose slightly as though she doesn't know the proper response to his change of mood.

"_That,_" he says, pulling her away from her half-full cup of coffee and shoving one of his old jackets into her arms, "proves my point. Let's go."

"What, right now?" she asks, watching him in bewilderment. "Where are we going?"

He grins and motions for her to put his old jacket on. She complies reluctantly and he cheerfully tugs a gigantic russian-style hat over his head, even though it's summer and possibly 18 degrees outside. "My work!" he answers, when she has put on appropriate attire.

"Your _work?_" she repeats, scandalized and looking at herself critically. "Teddy, you're joking, I couldn't go out in public looking like _this_- where do you work now?"

Heading towards his door, he calls over his shoulder, "A Muggle amusement park!"

"Teddy, stop," she says, grabbing his arm and looking at him with a pleading expression. "There'll be loads of people there, I can't go out wearing a nightgown and your old jacket, especially when my makeup is awful and my hair is a mess, Merlin, what'll your friends think?"

He shrugs. "One of them came in his pyjamas one day, I doubt they'll care."

She bites her lip. "But about the rest of the people there? What will they-"

"They're strangers, Vic- they might think you're weird, but they'll never see you again. And besides, you look beautiful anyway."

She blushes and walks towards him, apparently unable to think of any other way to react. But when they step outside, she turns to him with a confused look on her face. "Teddy, why are you being so nice and cheerful? Shouldn't you be mad at me?"

He shrugs and looks out at the sun shining in the sky, the cheerful smile remaining on his face. "I probably should be, but I'm not. Does that answer your question?"

She shakes her head, laughing a bit, and in the moment before they apparate, he wonders if there was some deep message in what he said.

Probably not.

They arrive in a field behind the amusement park with a slight _pop! _sound. He offers her his arm, and after a bemused look, she links hers with his. He begins skipping happily, giving her a slight wink, and she rolls her eyes and begins to skip along too. Giving her a sidelong glance, he begins to sing, knowing that she won't be able to resist. "Ain't it a glorious day? Right as a morning in May? I feel like I could fly!" He leaps dramatically in the air, and she laughs a little.

"_Teddy, _you know I love that musical, but really, you can't sing-"

He cuts her off by clamping his hand over her mouth and singing even louder. _"_Have you ever seen the grass so green? Or a bluer sky?_" _At this point, he can't stop grinning, because the look on her face is like she wants to laugh, but can't, and merlin, he just wants her to lose control for once.

"_Teddy!" _she bursts out, rolling her eyes obviously.

He gives her an oblivious look and begins skipping again. "Oh, it's a jolly holiday with you, Vic! Vic, you make my heart so light! When the day is gray and ordinary, Vic, you make the sun shine bright!"

"Oh, honestly, you haven't changed a bit, have you?" she says peevishly, crossing her arms and looking at him as though he's grown another head.

"You even _sound_ like her," he coaxes. "Come on, Vic, you don't need vocal warmups, just sing and have fun!"

"No," she says, but her smile is beginning to waver, so he thinks he might have her. Finally.

"Oh, happiness is blooming all around her," he belts again, throwing his hat in the air and doing a flamboyant spin. "The daffodils are smiling at the doves! When Vicky holds my hand, I feel so grand, my heart starts beating like a big brass band!" He pretends to have a heart attack, and finally, she laughs.

"Oh, Teddy, you're so silly sometimes."

He grins. "Vic, the line is 'Oh, Bert, you are lightheaded.' Get it right, _Merlin_."

She rolls her eyes, and finally getting into the mood of it, runs down the hill to join him as he runs through the gates of the Jolly Holiday Amusement Park. "Oh, it's a jolly holiday with you, Vic! No wonder that it's Vicky that we love!" He sings this part rather loudly, and gets a few strange looks from passerby. She looks worried, but he just salutes them.

"Teddy, you're so embarrassing sometimes!" she shouts over the sound of the various muggle children screaming and squealing and the rides running.

He grins devilishly. "I haven't even gotten to the worst part yet," he says, and gives a conspiratorial wink to the guy working the cotton candy booth. When he's caught his eye, he scratches his nose rather obviously, and the man sits up.

"OI, FELLAS!" he shouts, his booming voice carrying easily over the crowd. "TEDDY SCRATCHED HIS NOSE! YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!"

Among the cries of "Scratched his nose?" and "Scratched his nose he did, get ready boys!" Victoire whispers, "What _does _that mean?"

He shrugs innocently, just as one of the clowns does a flip and lands right in front of her to present a rose. "For you," he says, and then he too begins to sing loudly. "Oh, it's a jolly holiday with Vicky!"

Another large man begins singing too, and before long, every worker in the park is singing along to the song that Teddy knows is Victoire's favorite on the Mary Poppins soundtrack. Jokingly, he conducts them, and a few even bow. He looks over to look at Victoire, and is surprised and proud when he sees her doubled over laughing. She's finally letting go of her perfect image, and not caring about what the patrons of the park think of her, and Merlin, it feels glorious.

"Teddy, you didn't tell them that I hate being called Vicky, did you?" she asks, but it's only the side of her that _has _to give constructive criticism, and he knows Victoire couldn't go a day without critiquing an opening number, so he lets it slide.

"Oops?" he says sheepishly.

"It's alright," she says softly, and pulls him in for a kiss. At first he lets himself believe in it, because this is the realest moment they've ever had, but then he can't take not knowing anymore. "Vic, stop-" he says, pulling away.

"Why?" she asks calmly, and there's no sparkle of _look-at-me-i'm-in-the-spotlight, _so he continues.

"Because- I… Vic, you had a _girlfriend. _I can't do _this-_" he gestures to the two of them, "-when there's a chance you'll just dump me again."

"Well, you did organize '_this,_'" she reminds him. "But Teddy, you're right." He sighs slightly, knowing it what's coming, but not liking it at all. "It's not fair to you to go into a relationship with someone for the second time, not knowing if the same thing that ended it the first time is going to happen again."

He begins to walk away, because those are classic rejection lines, and he's not sure if he can take being told no twice. "And I'm _supposed _to say no to you right now," she calls, and he walks even faster. "And people are probably thinking that I'm some sort of harlot for dating you, dumping you for a girl, and dating you again!" she says even louder, and he hears footsteps chase after him. "And I was _supposed _to love Genevieve, because I'm _supposed _to like girls, and I'm _supposed _to have to limit myself to falling in love with one gender." He feels a hand on his shoulder and shakes it off, because doesn't she realize that she's just making it worse? "And if I continue on with this fake, plastic, _perfect _life, I marry the woman that I've caused everyone to expect me to marry."

He turns to her, ready to tell her to shut up. But there she is, her hair messed up again (purposefully) and her makeup in streaks (purposefully) and her white dress is torn (purposefully), and he can't be in love with her imperfections, because he's supposed to love someone for being good to him and never hurting him.

"But frankly, I'm tired of this '_supposed to' _thing," they both whisper, and this time when she kisses him, he doesn't pull away.

It feels real, anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>an: please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thanks.**


	14. Some Meaning I Can Memorise

**title:** Some Meaning I can Memorise  
><strong>pairing:<strong> lily/teddy  
><strong>author:<strong> Kaye (intersections)  
><strong>for:<strong> Ellie (with the monsters)

* * *

><p><span>Some Meaning I Can Memorise<span>

Love's an excuse to get hurt, and to hurt.  
>Do you like to hurt? I do, I do. Then hurt me.<br>Lover I Don't Have To Love by Bright Eyes

* * *

><p>Lily Luna Potter is completely alone.<p>

That's the first thing you notice when you step into the crummy bar that seems to have been just shoved into the street corner like it doesn't really belong there. It's cramped. There are lots of people. They are all clutching glasses like they are lifesavers. Lily is too. But she's alone.

You don't know all the pubs that she frequents, though God knows you've been to most of them, so you guess that since she's got her chin in her hand and is staring blankly at the glasses in the cabinet behind the bar, this isn't somewhere she comes often. It must not be, for there's no one flocking around her, hoping to get some tiny piece of Lily Potter, famous Harry Potter's fucked up, tragic wreck of a daughter.

You approach her warily. One can never be too cautious when it comes to Lily. She's like a coiled spring and she never relaxes. She never smiles. She doesn't smile at her parents. She doesn't smile at the attention. She doesn't smile at the pretty boys that swarm around her like moths to a flame. She doesn't smile at you.

"Fuck off," she says automatically when you get a little too close. Her eyes glitter in the dim lighting. She doesn't turn around. She just takes another drink.

"It's me," you say monotonously. Here to fucking rescue you, you think. Like she's some damsel in distress, but the only one causing her distress is herself. You hate her, sometimes. You hate her when she's cold and unresponsive. You hate her when she's angry at everything. You hate her when she's not even _looking_ at you because she's too damn proud to admit she needs anyone. To admit she needs _you_.

"Oh." She's still not looking. _LOOK AT ME_, you want to scream. But she'd never. Not if you asked her to. "It's because your hair's not blue."

And that's her used up her quota of words for the night, you suspect. "I don't like to stand out like a beacon everywhere I go. Unlike you. Clearly." The sourness in your voice is more than obvious. You don't even make an attempt to hide your feelings towards her anymore. It got too tiring trying to cover up all the irritation, the contempt. The bitterness.

"Fuck off, Teddy." She waves a hand as if to dismiss you. Unwillingly, you notice that her carefully applied makeup is smudged at the bottom of her eye, like she's been crying. But you shut that out before you can dwell on it. You can't let yourself feel anything when it's Lily. She'll rip your heart out. Cut it to pieces in front of you. Laugh, maybe. If she's feeling particularly sadistic. But that's just who she is. You gave up trying to change that long ago.

You grab her wrist. It's chalk white. Skin and bones. "Come on."

She's not going to come. You can see it in her eyes. Plain as anything. Tonight, she is going to be stubborn. Tonight, she is going to cause a scene. Sometimes, you hate Harry for even asking you to "keep an eye on" his daughter. Because of course, that means drag her home every night without fail and listen to her incessant bitching at you.

She meets your eye. Clenches her jaw. Says, very calmly, "No."

It's hard to hide your sigh. You're getting sick of her stupid antics, night after night after night. It's been bloody weeks since you've had a good few days to yourself to just relax. If you're not cleaning up other people's shit in the Auror Office then you're cleaning up your godfather's shit in various pubs and bars every goddamn night. It's hard not to hate what your life has become lately.

Lately, she's gotten pretty fucking good at evading you. She's been turning up at new pubs rather than her old haunts, always sitting in the corner alone with a half empty glass in her hand. That's one thing you have in common. The glass is always half empty to them. Never, never half full.

"Why not?" you challenge. Hell, she's coming whether you like it or not. She has no say in the matter. She never does. She just likes to think she does. Harry would kill you if you left her here until the bar closed and she was kicked out to the streets. Because then, then there would be no guarantee that she'd ever actually go home. At least if you're retrieving her then he knows where she is.

"Mm." Lily swirls her drink around before downing the small amount that was left. "I don't really want to, to be quite honest with you." She looks you dead in the eye. You're not really sure if you want to hit her or kiss her. Either could be potentially very dangerous.

"Do you want me to call your father?" Your tone is bored. If you want to get to Lily Potter, you have to act like you don't give a fuck. About her. About her life. About anything. It's kind of hard when all you seem to do is give a fuck. Shouting is no use. She likes it when people shout, especially you. It shows her that she's gotten to you. You never let her see that. No matter how much you want to throttle her.

"Not particularly."

"_Lily_." It's five past eleven. Not the latest, but you'd love to just get home and go to bed at a reasonable time for once in your life. "Just because you're eighteen and out of Hogwarts doesn't mean you can just do whatever the hell you want. You've been an adult for a year. It's time to start acting like it."

Maybe you're letting your frustration show. Just a little bit. It's not that you mean to. It's just that she has this way of getting under your skin that you can never quite pinpoint, but it makes you want to scream at her until your throat is raw and you can't scream any more. You want to hate her. You really, really want to hate her. But you can't hate her when she's looking at you like, well, _that_ – with her eyes so sad that it makes you feel lonely and her hair tangled and knotted by someone else's fingers running through it. Someone who wasn't you.

"How many times are you going to give me this rant, Teddy?" She smiles and arrogance resides in the upturned corners of her mouth. Satisfaction. "Goodness, that's, what? Every night for the past two weeks? I _love_ your originality. It's doing wonders for me, really. Thank you so much. You're really helping to turn my life around, Ted." Her grin grows bigger. You want to hate her.

"Fine!" you exclaim. You're done here. Done with Lily Luna Potter and her bullshit and her stubbornness and her tangled hair. "Just – fucking, _fine_. I'm leaving. Make your own way home. Or don't. The only person who's going to care either way is your dad. Maybe your mum, too. That's it. No one else." You turn on your heel and, very melodramatically, you march out of there.

"That's a lie," you hear her call after you. You pause at the door, waiting. "_You'd_ care, Teddy."

You slam the door.

/

She must have found her way home eventually because Harry doesn't come after you with the intent of murdering you in your sleep.

You don't really care, though. Or at least, that's what you're trying to tell yourself.

/

She's laughing. It's not a nice laugh, full of mirth and happiness. It's a harsh laugh, full of bitterness and contempt. A bit like you, you suppose. She's laughing, and you're staring at her like she's lost it. She probably has. She probably lost it a long time ago. You find yourself wondering what a normal Lily would be like. A Lily who liked to go out with her friends and dance rather than sit and drink in lonely street corner pubs with other lonely, desperate people.

The horizon is almost invisible. London's tall, rectangular buildings block it out from where they sit on the rooftop of a derelict old block. The sun is setting. You don't find it beautiful any more. You find yourself wishing you did. The Thames sparkles in orange light. Once, you would have admired it. Now, you do not.

She's laughing. She takes a drink. She doesn't offer you any. "Do you think I'm crazy?" she asks. Still laughing. Still drinking.

You don't answer immediately. Either answer could offend her. Either answer could lead to her pushing you off the side and result in you smacking off the ground and most likely dying. It's not really worth the risk.

"I think," you say, letting the words linger, "I think everyone's a bit crazy."

"That's a shit answer," she tells you. Still laughing. It's not a nice laugh. You get the feeling she's laughing at you. Ten years younger than you and laughing at you. It doesn't fill you with great feelings about your life, honestly. "You can do better than that, Teddy. It's not a hard question." She puts the bottle down so hard the glass almost broke. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

You sigh. "Yes. A bit."

Her eyes narrow. "Does everyone else?"

"Pretty sure they do," you answer nonchalantly. You pick up the bottle. Take a drink. Getting really drunk sounds appealing right now but you haven't done that since you were twenty four. Three years down the line and you think you've learned a bit better. The hangover's never fun. Neither is trying to work out just what the hell happened the previous night and finding out from someone you don't even know that you got off with some random girl that you're never going to see again and then started a fight with a guy at least three times bigger than you. At least it explained away the black eye, though.

Lily doesn't reply. Her eyes are fixed on the distant sky, darkening from a burnt orange to purple. "Think we'll ever get out of this shitty city?"

"You might," you say. "I won't."

"Why not?" She scrutinises you, like she can't believe you just said that. Like she can't believe that you actually have ties to things. "There's nothing here except lonely people and buildings."

"I hate to burst your bubble," you say, "but that's kind of what it's like everywhere else in the world too. Lonely people drinking and pretending they're not losing it and waiting for something better to come along. Lonely people who don't really give a shit about anyone else except themselves and the person they love that will never love them back." You shrug. Take a drink. "Everywhere's lonely. You've just got to make the best of it."

"That's a better answer." And she sounds almost approving when she says that. Like – wow, Teddy – you've finally grasped the concept of human nature! The world goes round and everyone is so fucking lonely all the time and everyone loves people they shouldn't. Oh, and might as well add that everyone dies in the end as well, as if the concept wasn't already depressing enough.

"Thanks," you say sarcastically.

"Why do you hate me?" she asks.

You have to admit, you're a little taken aback by that. No one except Lily would ask something so straightforward and blunt. No one except Lily could make you feel so uncomfortable. You want to hate that about her. You really want to.

"I don't," you say automatically.

"Yeah, right," she snorts, rolling her eyes. "And the sky is pink and the grass is blue. You can't stand me, Teddy." She points at him accusingly. "Don't bother lying. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me every night. Like you're thinking, _great. I have to pick up this stupid bitch again. I wish she'd just drop off the face of the earth. Oh god, why is my life _so_ hard. I hate her _so _much and I wish she would just shut her stupid mouth because I'm getting really sick of her shit_."

"That's not true," you deny as quickly as you can. Too quickly. Heat rises to your cheeks. Being almost reprimanded by an eighteen year old is not something you had imagined when you pictured what your life would be like after school. "What I mean to say is – yeah. I get sick of it. I fucking hate it sometimes. You're so _stubborn_. All the time. And if I don't get you home safe then Merlin knows Harry will castrate me and that's before Ginny runs through me with a knife herself. I don't know why they just can't keep you on house arrest or something. It would make _my_ life a hell of a lot easier."

"Finally," says Lily. "You're being honest. _Now_ we're getting somewhere." She sounds satisfied with herself. God, how you want to hate her guts.

"But," you say, raising a hand to stop her going any further. "But – I don't hate you."

She looks at you, like you're some puzzle she's trying to work out. Which is silly, because you're the simplest guy in the history of the world.

"I want to hate you," you continue. "You have no idea how much I want to hate you. It would make everything so much easier. I wouldn't go to bed at night thinking of your stupid eyes and your silly hairdo and the way you do your makeup so it makes your eyes look twice the size. And oh. Shit. Pretend I didn't say that. _Really_ pretend I didn't say that because Merlin, that's embarrassing."

"You think of me in bed?" Lily raises her eyebrows suggestively. "There's a name for that, you know. Uh, what is it? Begins with a P... tip of my tongue..."

"Fuck off," you say, your voice like ice. "Fuck off, Lily. This is why I want to hate you. This is why everyone _does_ hate you. Because you can be such a bitch sometimes."

"Whatever." She waves you off like your comment means nothing to her. And it probably does, you realise a little too late. You could say anything you want to her and you doubt she'd care. People say Lily is like fire, that she burns everything she touches because she's so destructive, but you know better. Lily is ice. Just as destructive, just as deadly. And everything bounces off her. Nothing is absorbed. Hating her is so easy, so why can't you bring yourself to do it?

"Fuck this." You get to your feet carefully, cautious not to lose your footing. You're halfway down the ladder when she calls out a soft, "Don't go." You hesitate, your knuckles turning white where you grip the rungs too tightly. You've always been weak-willed. Your grandmother used to say it was your worst quality. It's always been hard for you to resist someone when their voice is pleading.

"Teddy?" comes her voice again. You wish you could see her face.

And of course, you climb back up the ladder and go and sit with her until dawn because this is the way it always ends and your life is one big routine as of late. Why break that now?

/

You hate Lily Luna Potter. Or at least, that's what you're trying to convince yourself as Harry waves you over in Diagon Alley with a smile on his face. Undoubtedly, he will ask about her. Like he doesn't see her every other week or so now she's moved out. You hate her. You hate her. You hate her.

"How are you?" Harry greets, shaking your hand. His eyes are exactly like Lily's behind his glasses. You hate her, though. So that doesn't matter.

You mumble a reply that sounds a lot like, "M'fine. You?" and barely listen to his reply. He's talking about something that happened in the Ministry the other day that you vaguely remember hearing about and then promptly forgetting since it was nothing to do with you, really.

"Teddy?" he asks, waving a hand in front of your face. You come back to the present with a jolt and find your godfather staring at you with concern. With those bloody eyes. You hate that shade of green. The kind of green that looks like a dull, unpolished gem. Lifeless and flat.

"Sorry." You flash a grin at him. Pretending to be okay is one thing you're good at. "What were you saying?"

"Just wondering if you've seen Lily lately," he says. "Ginny's worried about her. She's not been returning her Floo calls and – well, you know what mothers are like." Harry rolls his eyes and you could almost forget that this man grew up an orphan. "She forgets what crazy teenagers are like." His tone is light, but you get the feeling it's not just Ginny wondering where she is.

He's staring at you expectantly and you say, "Well, I saw her yesterday. She was fine. Just... being Lily. As she does, you know."

"At some pub?" Harry's mouth is a hard line.

"Uh, no, actually," you say. "Just... we were hanging out."

He visibly relaxes. "That's fine then. I'm glad she's found a friend in you, Teddy. Someone I can trust not to – well, you know. Take advantage of her. Merlin knows she needs someone like that."

You swallow. "Yeah."

He gives you another concerned look before saying his goodbyes and disappearing off into Quality Quidditch Supplies. You raise a hand in farewell and then lean against the wall, breathing out in relief.

"Shit," Lily smirks, appearing from a small alleyway with a cigarette poised in her fingertips. "That was pretty close."

"It's not _funny_," you reprimand her. "He'll kill me if he finds out about this. About – whatever the hell we're doing."

She raises her eyebrows. Takes a drag. Breathes out pirouetting smoke that dances high above her head. "And what exactly are we doing? Sneaking around? It's not like we're _fucking_, Teddy. It's not like we're in love."

You pull the cigarette from her and drop it to the ground, stepping on it. "Smoking's bad for you."

"I'm going to die anyway," she says, her voice bored as she looks at the crushed cigarette stamped into the ground. "It's not really going to make a difference if I do it or not, you know. You can't protect me from _everything_, as much as you'd like to. The world doesn't work that way, Teddy." She smirks again. "Hate to break it to you."

You just shake your head and pull her back down the alleyway. "Shut up," you say. The pale curve of her throat is tantalising. "Shut up."

"Fuck, are you going to just _look_ at me?" Lily stares at you. "Just because my dad showed up doesn't mean what we were doing was horribly wrong and immoral. We were just _kissing_, Teddy. That's _it_. Stop looking at me like I'm some sort of forbidden fruit, alright? God isn't going to smite you if you kiss me."

"You're eighteen," you say, though it's more of a reminder to yourself at this point, really. "And I'm – older. We shouldn't. Not just because your parents will bloody murder me for it."

"Then why not?"

"I'm ten years older than you," you say pointedly. Her eyes are shining green, that exact green you love. Glimmering and glinting like a polished gem. Lively and laughing. You want to hate her. It would be so much easier if you could just hate her.

"And I don't really care." She's still looking at you. God. "So. Kiss me again. Like you did before. Drag your mouth down my neck. Stop at my collarbone. Kiss me there. Bring your head up and kiss my lips and I'll kiss you back. Then we'll half-undress one another and realise we've gone too far. We'll stop. Go for a drink. Kiss again. You'll tell me you hate me because you're drunk, but then you'll laugh and kiss me and tell me you don't really. You'll tell me you're actually rather fond of me."

You would love to wipe that knowing smirk off her face.

"Well?" She taps her foot.

You raise your eyebrows. "What if I said no?"

"You might." Lily tilts her head. The corners of her lips quirk upwards. "But you won't." Her lips are at your ear now. Her breath tickles you. "I know you won't."

"How do you know that?"

She pulls back and grins wildly. "I know you too well, Teddy Lupin. You never say no. Not to me."

Fuck. She is young and tempting and completely in control and you are really quite helpless. Pathetic, you think to yourself. Outwitted by someone ten years younger. She's not just anyone, though. She's Lily and she's a bit crazy and you can never help but give her what she wants.

So you don't say no. You kiss her. You drag your mouth down her neck. You stop at her collarbone and kiss her there. You bring your head up and kiss her lips and she kisses back. Her hand is in your hair. Your back is against the wall. Damp. Her fingers tug at the buttons on your shirt and you pull her top over her head. You kiss her again. Again. Then you stop. You go for a drink. You kiss her again. You both laugh because you've had a bit too much by this point. You tell her you hate her but then you correct yourself and say you don't really. You tell her you might actually love her.

She laughs at that. She thinks that's hilarious. She kisses you again. Says, "That's cute." You tell her not to be so fucking patronising. She laughs.

You're not sure how that night ends but the last thing you can remember is her hair threaded between your fingers.

Scarlet.

/

"So." Lily drags the syllable out as long as she possibly can. There's a cigarette at her lips. You wonder how she grew up quite so fast. It seems like it was yesterday she was crying over scraped knees and pulling faces at neighbourhood boys that so much as looked her way. Now she is crying over God knows what and throwing herself at those neighbourhood boys she once turned her nose up at. Life has a way of doing that to people, you muse.

"So what?" you ask slightly impatiently. You met her straight from work for some crazy reason (it wasn't the way her voice sounded on the phone, cocky and arrogant and full of knowing or anything. Really) and now you're here, back on that derelict building that's close to being torn down by the Muggle government because it's such an eyesore. You'll be sad to see it go. Maybe.

She smirks. Flips her hair back. "You might love me, Mr Lupin."

Fuck.

There's not even any point in denying you said it. That she was too drunk and must have made it up or distorted it somehow. You know as well as she does that that's what you said.

"I was drunk," you tell her, like she doesn't already know. Like it explains everything away. "You can't believe things that drunk people say."

Lily raises her eyebrows. "Actually, the truth tends to come out when you're," her eyes run up and down the length of your body, right down to your legs that dangle over the side, "slightly intoxicated. Didn't you know?"

"The truth comes out when you're angry," you defend automatically. Who are you kidding?

She shakes her head. "An exaggerated version of the truth comes out when you're angry," she counters, like she's full of knowledge and wisdom and _God_, you want to hate her. "The real truth comes out when you're drunk. You have _no idea_ the things people tell you at bars when they don't even realise who you are." She smirks and takes a drag. Something about the way her lips curve around the cigarette makes you feel like you're nineteen again. You sort of wish you were.

"You're so full of shit," you tell her. It would be so easy to push her off the edge. You don't, though. Of course you don't.

"Maybe." She inclines her head, smiling slightly. There's an odd glint in her eyes. "You like it, though. I can tell. You don't do a very good job of hiding things, you know."

"Thank you," you say through gritted teeth. It would be so easy to push her off the edge. No one would even miss her.

It would be just as easy to throw yourself off. No one would miss you either.

"Teddy," she says, and her voice is much softer than it's been all day. All week. All _year_. She sounds like she's fourteen again.

"Yeah?" you ask somewhat warily.

"_Do_ you love me?" Her tone is sincere. You meet her eyes, expecting to find them mocking and jeering. They're not. They're that bloody emerald colour you insist you hate but it actually might be your favourite colour ever. After scarlet, of course. After every bright, blazing colour that reminds you of her.

You hesitate. Either answer is dangerous. Either answer could lead to your ultimate destruction.

In the end, you go with your heart. You look Lily straight in the eye. You say, "No."

Her eyes are gleaming as she calls you a liar.

**- fin -**

* * *

><p><strong>an: please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thanks.**


	15. and they start to laugh

**title:** and they start to laugh  
><strong>pairing:<strong> victoire/neville  
><strong>author:<strong> Kat (a walk on the w i l d side)  
><strong>for:<strong> Aimy (lonely hands)

* * *

><p>She's fifteen and Teddy's only a year older, and they're as perfect as they'll ever be. She turns up at his flat sometime in the afternoon, a muggle movie tucked under her arm and enough sweets to last a month. He opens the door with a grin, amused at her mussed hair and crinkled clothes.<p>

"What happened to arriving this morning?"

She offers him an apologetic smile and holds out the half-eaten packet of junk food. "I was distracted?"

He rolls his eyes and leads her over to the sofa, summoning a bowl from the cupboard. They sit together on the couch, with her tucked under his arm like they've done so many times before, fitting together like adjoining puzzle pieces. One of those puzzles for young children, the ones that don't require any thought to put together, an effortless match. To Victoire it feels comfortable, almost second nature for them to curl up on the couch together and watch muggle films.

"Teddy?" she questions, playing with the fraying edge of the couch, aiming for something between nonchalance and vague curiosity.

"Victoire." He says, and she can hear the smirk in his voice as he sees through her deception.

"Nothing," she murmurs, struck by the pointlessness of asking a question to which she already knows the answer.

.

She can feel the curiosity in his silence but just shakes her head. He knows her too well to prompt her to speak, and that is answer enough.

A lot of the time, Victoire is certain she loves Teddy. It's not like once she met him the world made sense, because she's known Teddy her whole life. It's more like, she can't imagine him not being there any more than she can imagine herself without an arm or leg.

But there are other times, when Victoire is afraid and alone and almost desperate for something else. It's like a feeling she's heard about but never really had, or an idea she's never been able to entertain, only watch as it passes by her theatre.

.

Her favourite subject had always been herbology, since before she'd even started at Hogwarts. She'd always been the best in her class at it, always getting top marks, but it was more than that. Unlike the other subjects, she didn't like it because it was effortless. It required a certain type of work, you needed patience, but every day it was different. There was something spontaneous in it, a mixture of frustration and pure joy that she had never felt anywhere else. She had tried to explain it to Teddy, but he only shook his head and laughed. She knew the only one who really understood was Professor Longbottom, who would laugh when she recounted her escapades with Fanged Geraniums and Venomous Tentacula, describing in graphic detail it's attempt to take her life. They'd drink coffee and talk and somehow they'd always end up laughing, laughing and laughing and laughing, tears streaming down her face and her stomach in stitches. Then he'd murmur something about a soul of flowers and she didn't know what he meant but she'd smile and then they'd end up laughing and talking and the tears are still streaming down her face.

.

She's sixteen, standing in front of his office and rehearsing a question (just another excuse to see him), and she's arranging her face into a smile and pulling her skirt a little higher and her heart is beating faster than it ever has with Teddy, and she breathes in and laughs, laughs and laughs and laughs, with tears streaming down her face and her stomach in stitches.

He opens the door and she leans forward and when they meet it's as if there's something there, something pretty and indescribable and Merlin, this feels so right. She pulls back and opens her mouth and she's expecting an apology to come out of those lips, but it's not, it's a laugh and then they're both laughing and she's kissing him and somewhere in between he murmurs about a soul of flowers and it's only when her arms are tangled in his hair and his lips are smiling against hers that she realises he might have a point.

.

Victoire has always been selfish, but it's okay because she's Victoire and perfect by default and she is the point the earth revolves around. She's had Neville since she was sixteen and Teddy since she was born, her life a mix of something like turquoise and herbology and muggle movies and coffee.

Neville has always been altruistic, a crooked smile and messy hair and something irrevocably good in Victoire's world. He's the better half, the soul in her supposed 'soul of flowers' and the happiness in her smile.

It's messy and dangerous, what they're doing, but it's not like either of them cares, really. She's selfish and he's altruistic, and they're the better half of each other, and they're not giving up what they've been denying for six years.

.

It's a Saturday afternoon and Victoire is twenty-five when she walks in on them, tangled together in a blur of red hair and pale limbs. She has her head against his bare chest, his arms wrapped around her like a cage, that one gesture amounting to more than what Teddy and Victoire have ever felt in their lives.

"Lily," Teddy murmurs, and Victoire is struck by the protectiveness in his voice, the warmth and happiness in this one sleepy word. Lily's reply is to pull herself closer, muttering incomprehensibly, and it's not meant to be Lily, IT'S NOT MEANT TO BE HER. IT'S MEANT TO BE ME, BECAUSE I'M HIS GIRLFRIEND AND IT'S ONLY SEX AND HE DOESN'T LOVE YOU.

And it's somewhere in between that it becomes screaming, and Victoire is yelling STAY AWAY FROM HIM and Lily's yelling HE DOESN'T LOVE YOU and somehow they end up in the kitchen.

"Don't you dare- I can't believe- how could you?" Victoire finishes, desperately clutching at the composure she's already lost.

"He's not yours, Vic. He never was."

"He doesn't love you, either." She stops herself there, her head spinning at how easily she just admitted that Teddy doesn't love her. "You have no right to- he's mine. I LOVE HIM." Her face is getting hotter, and she's just too angry to think of pulling out her wand.

"No, you don't," Lily leans in, her smile screaming I'm right, you're wrong, and Victoire hates it. "I know about Neville. You'll never love Teddy, and he'll never love you back."

"He loves me. HE LOVES ME." and then Victoire is apparating out of the flat, leaving Lily alone in the empty kitchen.

"He doesn't, Vic. And you don't love him either." She murmurs, blinking back tears.

She arrives at Neville's house, face red and eyes shining, within seconds of leaving Teddy's flat. He opens the door before she has a chance to knock and stares at her, taking in her desperate expression and bleeding fingernail.

"What happened? Did you splinch yourself?" he asks, taking her hand with gentle fingers.

She draws a breath in, the air scraping harshly against her throat, and laughs. It's a cruel sort of laugh, full of anger and malice and everything he foolishly believed she wasn't. "Lily and Teddy and Merlin, I hate her. I hate her I hate her I hate her." The tears come and it's not the sense of betrayal that brings them, rather the realisation that Lily was right. He pulls her into his arms and lets her cry, waiting on the doorstep for her tears to stop and her heart to start putting itself together.

.

It's only later that Victoire admits that her and Teddy weren't matching puzzle pieces. They had simply been pushed and pulled and worn down until they matched, squeezed out of shape until they fit the parts other people had cultivated for them. Teddy was more of a brother, someone like Louis or Dominique, she figured, and the thought felt right. It felt right to think of Teddy as a brother, as one of the family, and in truth, well, he always had been. Just not in the way that everyone had hoped.

Neville watches her over a cup of coffee, his eyebrows pinched together like he's really worried about something. She smiles up at him, a weak smile, but genuine nonetheless. It says I'm sorry, it says I'm okay, it says I love you. He smiles back, the tightness gradually leaving his eyes as they talk, still in the same conversation they've been having for years.

If it's Neville, Victoire thinks, I will never get tired of herbology.

.

She goes back to Teddy's flat the next day to collect her things. She's surprised by how little she's moved in during the four years Teddy's had the flat. It only takes a few minutes to summon and pack her items- a few pictures and some odd items of clothing, a jumper, some socks and a pair of sandals. Now that she's looking she can see the small things that ought to have made her suspicious- a bra that's not hers and perfume she's never worn.

Teddy's out and Victoire makes sure to be gone before he comes home, not wanting to hear his apologies or explanations.

.

She lasts a week alone in her flat before she cracks, not able to face another day stuck between the same four walls, so she apparates over to Neville's small cottage in Oxford. She walks in on Hannah and Neville talking in the living room, but he sees her before she can back out. He invites her inside and asks her to sit down, offering her a cup of tea. She laughs despite herself, waiting for Neville to join in. He doesn't and she stares at him, struck by the blankness of his expression.

"I'd like a coffee, please." She says, her eyes flicking to the steaming cup of tea in front of him. He obliges and busies himself boiling the water, leaving Victoire and Hannah to make incredibly awkward conversation. Their discussion of the weather fades and they sit in silence, waiting for Neville to return. He comes back with a burning cup of coffee and she can only feel relieved that he doesn't ask if she wants sugar with it.

"So, what brings you here, Victoire?" he asks, making her blink with the use of her full name.

"Oh, well I was wondering if you could write up a reference for my resume?" she asks, keeping her tone carefully neutral. She stares at him for a few moments, her eyes burning, willing him to understand. He stares back, his gaze blank and uninviting. She drops her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee, wincing a little at the heat. "But I can see you're busy, so I'll come back later. It was nice to see you, Hannah." The other woman nods awkwardly, her smile faltering a little as she tries to skirt the tension between Victoire and Neville. He stays silent, staring into his cup like he once stared into her eyes, and Victoire can't help but wonder what's going on.

It's only when she gets back to her flat that she realizes she brought her cup with her, full of the milkless coffee Neville knows she hates. She flings the cup at the wall, watching it smash satisfyingly and land in a crumpled heap of horror and debris, and she thinks she sort of likes this feeling. It's burning and hurting and a wonderful sort of pain that one day she will associate with broken coffee cups and herbology lessons.

.

He turns up at her flat the next day with an apologetic smile and roasted coffee beans. They smile and laugh, laugh and laugh and laugh until tears are streaming down her face and her stomach's in stitches. They don't mention Hannah again and she's thankful for the words that eat up the empty space located somewhere in her chest, letting him melt down the fears that had started to build up.

She pretends she doesn't notice how many herbology facts he gets wrong, because there's no point getting worked up over nothing, is there?

.

She's twenty-six and somewhere between perfect and utter wreck, the hurt running through her like the coffee. Her days are still centered around herbology and coffee cups and laughing and laughing and laughing, with tears streaming down her face and her stomach in stitches, but sometimes the tears last a little too long and her stomach hurts a little too much and she feels hyper and full of caffeine and god, this life isn't good for her.

When Neville murmurs "maybe we should stop" sometime in the middle of the night she can only reply with a laugh, winding her fingers through his hair and pulling him back onto her.

.

"Maybe we should stop," he murmurs again, later, his eyes half-closed and his hands tangled in her hair. She pulls away and laughs, laughs and laughs and laughs, her eyes starting to water and then suddenly she's crying and it's not funny SHE'S NOT LAUGHING WHAT ARE YOU DOING IT'S NOT FUNNY and then she's sobbing and he's pushing her away and she can hear something like the word sorry but she doesn't care because suddenly it's made sense and there's only one word that she can hear and it goes something like "Hannah".

.

She doesn't know when it started ending, but it did, and suddenly she's skipping the laughing and going straight to the tears, her stomach a constant ache and her life a caffeinated buzz of little more than tattered dreams.

.

She's twenty-eight and sitting at the back of a church, her eyes tracing the curves of the stone pillars and stain-glass windows. She's sitting next to Teddy, halfway along a wooden pew, surrounded by people she doesn't know and happiness she can't replicate. He's got his hand clasped firmly around hers, not the lie it used to represent, but something real, something she used to wish for in the middle of the night when he was gasping Lily and she was murmuring Neville, each pretending they can't hear the others' words.

Hannah walks down the aisle, looking stunning in white, and Victoire, petty selfish Victoire, can only look at her skin against the dress, thinking something along the lines of I WOULD'VE LOOKED BETTER.

There's a blur at the edge of her vision, something dark and horrible and calling itself the truth, and if she looks a little closer she can see it reads the end of her and Neville, dated long before they even started. It looks like laughter and coffee and herbology lessons, things that today she no longer has time for.

She sighs, her hands twitching towards the base of her ring-finger, pretending she feels a little loop of gold wrapped around it.

She holds it against her chest, the silent thudding echoing through her empty ribcage, and slowly she starts to laugh, laughs and laughs and laughs, the tears streaming down her face and her stomach in stitches.

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><p><strong>an: please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thanks.**


	16. your secret admirer

**title:** your secret admirer  
><strong>pairing:<strong> lucy/lorcan  
><strong>author:<strong> Bunny (fushigi flame heart)  
><strong>for:<strong> Rachel (shut away)

* * *

><p>The letter Lucy was looking at was the first full letter she has got from her secret admirer. She has the other notes they had sent, but there where mini poems of sort.<p>

_Dear Lucy,_

_I'm writing to this letter that I love you. I know: it seem like I'm too cowardly that I'm telling you in a letter instead of doing it face to face. I imagine myself telling you after I did a romantic gesture for you, like taking you out for dinner or lunch._

_If you want to know who I am, meet me by the Black Lake at 7pm._

_Sincerely,_

_Your secret admirer_

Lucy was nervous about meeting her secret admirer, as she stood at the edge of the Black lake; she couldn't resist going to out to find out who it was.

"It's beautiful at night, isn't it?" Lucy heard the voice from behind her. She turned around and saw the voice was from Lorcan's.

"What are you doing?" Lucy asked curiously.

"I'm the one that has been sending you the letters, Lucy; I'm your secret admirer." Lorcan said in response.

"No, I don't believe you. Lorcan, for as long as I knew you always picked on me. Proven to me that you really mean this, and it is not some type of dare that your Slytherin friends dare you to do." Lucy said.

"I will, I proven it right now." Lorcan stated.

"How?" Lucy asked, wondering.

"She wants to believe that their love can last, not like imprints in ice that will fade into nothingness. She knows that she can't hide from reality in her dreams." Lorcan quoted.

"Stop, I believe you, alright." Lucy cried, remembering where she had read these reads before.

"That he is still giving her kisses. She knows that their love can last. To him, it was spouse to be one time thing." Lorcan quoted.

"How do you know mine favorite poet?" Lucy aked.

"I asked my brother if he knew your favorite poet and he know me it was Charles Smith. "he smiling. "Will you go to the Winter Ball with me?"

"I would love too." She told him.

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><p><strong>an: please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thanks.**


	17. Love, Not Love

**title:** Love/Not Love  
><strong>triangle:<strong> oc/victoire/teddy  
><strong>author:<strong> Julie (theatre-geek17)  
><strong>for:<strong> Roma (justalittle l o o n y)

* * *

><p>Victoire loved Teddy. She knew she loved him. She'd loved him since her fifth year at Hogwarts. He was the perfect guy for her. He was sweet and caring and fun to be with. He was the perfect guy. But then again, Caroline wasn't a guy. Teddy was the perfect guy but Caroline, Caroline was the perfect girl. She was tall and fair and curvy in every place a girl was meant to be. She was the rival of every pretty girl at Hogwarts and the object of every boy's lustful thoughts. She was in Ravenclaw, which automatically had her labelled as intelligent but she didn't gloat about it to the rest of the world like some of those in her house. She was kind to most all people though she'd been rumored to snap at people if you got on her wrong side. Victoire didn't think it was possible for a girl like her to have a wrong side.<p>

But she loved Teddy. She had to love Teddy. That was all her family had talked about since they'd started dating two years earlier. It was always "Oh, you and Teddy are such a beautiful couple" and "It'll be so nice to finally have Teddy as a true member of the family" and "We just know those two will get married someday". It was just what everyone expected of them. Because that was how her Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione were and how her Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry were and how Grandpa Arthur and Grandma Molly were. In the Weasley household, it was almost expected that school sweethearts got married. And she loved Teddy so she should be fine with that. She was fine with that. She thought she was fine with that.

Until she met Caroline.

It was seventh year and they were in their NEWTs potions class. There weren't many of them in there. Maybe a dozen at the most. There was only one class for the lot of them but that was because Professor Carrow was very strict about who she let into her advanced potions class. Her and Caroline had been partnered together and they were both fine with that. Both were hard workers and knew what they needed to do to perform well in the class. It wasn't that she hadn't known Caroline before that class. They'd been going to school together for over six years now and had classes together in the past. But then she'd always just been the smart and pretty Claw girl in the sea of students in their classes. She'd seen the raven haired girl countless times in the castle and on the rare visit to the Ravenclaw common room to see her brother or cousins. She'd never given her much thought.

But then Advanced Potions came.

Something she'd learned in the past about Potions was that you had to get used to being in close proximity with whomever you were paired with. You needed to be able to see what was being placed in the cauldron and make sure everything was being done properly. She'd expected them to bump each other and to touch at some point whether it was by accident or to pass ingredients. She hadn't expected to feel anything when the other girl's hand brushed against hers.

But she did.

Victoire loved Teddy. She was sure of it. And he loved her. And she knew that because ever since he'd graduated he'd come up to see her when they had their weekend trips to Hogsmeade. He would meet up with her and give her that sweet kiss that made her feel special and hand her some kind of exotic flower that he'd thought she'd like. She had whole collection of flowers, dried out and saved from all the times he'd given her one. He'd take her somewhere, whether it was the Three Broomsticks or Honeyduke's or - Merlin forbid - Madam Pudifoot's. (She wasn't sure why he thought she liked that ridiculous tea shop but he did and she didn't have the heart to tell him she hated the place.) They would spend the entire day together, usually meeting up with her siblings or cousins at one point for a bit of a family thing. It was always lovely because she loved Teddy, she knew it.

But sometimes she wondered if Teddy might love her more than she loved him. She started thinking about it more and more. Teddy would look at her with that expression of complete love and his eyes and sometimes she wondered if she mirrored the expression when she was with him. She was sure she had a one point but now she started to wonder. She loved him but did she truly love him with that same passion he seemed to have. She wondered. She never brought him gifts or showered him with compliments the way he did with her. You were supposed to do those kinds of things for the people you loved, right?

She complimented Caroline a few days before her first Hogsmeade trip that year. She wasn't sure why she complimented the girl but she did. It had just slipped out during Potions one day. She glanced over at the brunette stirring their current concoction and quietly said, "I really like your headband. It matches your eyes."

Those blue eyes glanced over at her, never stopping with the stirring. She looked at the eldest Weasley girl for a moment with curiosity before a small smile graced her mouth. "Thanks. Your hair looks lovely today."

Victoire simply returned the smile before going back cutting ingredients with a bright flush on her face.

Victoire thought she loved Teddy. She'd thought that for over two years. Two years she hadn't looked at other boys, thought of other boys, or flirted with other boys. But after just a few months of class with a girl she'd never even given two thoughts of before, she wasn't so sure about anything. Caroline made her question anything she'd thought before about love. Her entire life she thought she'd fall in love with a boy and marry him and have three or four kids like her mum. But now- Now, she wasn't sure that was right for her. For a few months now, she and Caroline had been brushing next to each other, exchanging whispered compliments, and, Victoire was almost certain, flirting. She wasn't entirely sure if all of this was really happening or if it was just all in her head but part of her hoped she wasn't imagining those little moments that she replayed and analyzed when she couldn't sleep. And when she did sleep, it wasn't a lanky metamorphmagus she saw. It was a raven haired girl.

That had honestly terrified her, the first time she woke after a dream involving her Potions partner. She'd almost skipped class that day to avoid the other girl but then she realized it would be worse if she didn't see Caroline. So she'd gone to class and every single time that their bare arms brushed against one another she felt this jolt of electricity rushing through her veins. It practically drove her mad. She wore her sleeves down from then on out.

It wasn't until Halloween that she truly realized that she didn't think she loved Teddy any longer. Custom had it that the seventh years would have a Halloween party in the Room of Requirement. It was always good, crazy, fun; a night where they could all just be silly teenagers. And that's what they were. Butterbeer was always conjured up at the start but as the night wore on someone would manage to get something stronger. By midnight, a bottle of Firewhiskey had made it's way around the room and about half the crowd was tipsy. Victoire was part of that crowd. In fact, she was a bit beyond tipsy. She went off in search of Caroline and found the raven haired girl talking with some Hufflepuff boy. Actually, it was more him talking at her. The blonde couldn't resist pulling her classmate to the dancefloor. She held the girl's hands in hers and started moving to the loud music being played. They danced and danced and danced. Boys tried to cut in but they always refused, giggling and swaying to the music. After a bit, a slow song filled the room and, while other couples just moved closer to one another, Victoire took a hesitant step back. But Caroline just grabbed the blonde girl's arm and pulled her close for the slow dance. She was completely stiff as she felt the brunette girl's arms wrap around her shoulders and she awkwardly placed her hands on her hips. Then, they danced. Something kept pulling them closer and closer until Victoire could practically feel the other girl's warm breath on her cheek. Her green eyes glanced slightly up to meet the blue ones and that electricity was back in her blood. It might've been how close they were, it might've been the alcohol; she wasn't sure which but all she did know was that she was leaning forward and speaking into the girl's ear. "I really, really like you, Caroline."

"I like you too, Vic," she replied with a smile. And that was all Victoire needed to hear. With a boldness she didn't know she possessed, she pressed her lips to the other girl's and kissed her the way she knew she should only kiss Teddy. Except this was nothing like kissing Teddy. This was her heaven. The feel of the girl's soft mouth, the taste of that strawberry lip balm she always wore, the smooth skin under her hands - it was perfection. Her hands cupped Caroline's face and smiling as she felt the other girl's hands on her shoulders. She was kissing her back and Victoire was in ecstasy. Then, as quick as it had begun, it ended.

Caroline's hands pushed her back and she looked at her with wide eyes. She stepped back from the blonde girl and just barely whispered, "I'm sorry. I can't." And then, she was gone.

Victoire was pretty sure that she no longer believed in love. Ever since Halloween, she felt this dull, emptiness inside of her. The first time she had Potions after the incident at the party, Professor Carrow informed her that she and Caroline would no longer be partners. The raven haired girl didn't give her so much as a glance as they began working with their new partners. After that class, the blonde went up to her dormitory and curled up on her bed, crying herself to sleep. Her roommates all asked the next morning what was wrong and if something had happened with her and Teddy. She pretended not hear them, burrowing under her blankets and blocking out the world. That was the first time she'd ever skipped a class. The day after that she owled Teddy, ended things with him. She didn't want to have him doting on her anymore. It wasn't fair to him. She didn't love him. Her mum owled her the day after that asking what was wrong. She didn't have the nerve to tell her about Caroline.

The school year continued in dull colors for her. She didn't go out with her friends really, she didn't flirt with boys, she didn't focus on much other than her studies. By the time the term ended, she was practically at the top of her class. And when graduation came, she gave the raven haired girl one last look of longing before boarding the boats and never seeing her again. Her life moved on but those potions classes would always be in her mind.

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><p><strong>an: please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thanks.**


	18. the city lights are in your eyes

**title:** the city lights are in your eyes  
><strong>triangle:<strong> teddy/victoire  
><strong>author:<strong> Listen (fabricated fantasies)  
><strong>for:<strong> Tatoe (heading for a huge collision)

* * *

><p>They are a living fairytale, all passionate first kisses and childhood friendships that end in love; but there's a world beyond the legend, when the leading lady and the dashing prince begin to live their lives, and this is their story.<p>

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you're leaving," she says, the dark sky almost empty of stars, only blackness where the moon should be. The birds in the trees are completely silent, as if they know two hearts are breaking tonight and they don't want to witness it.<p>

"There's no use changing my mind now," Teddy replies with a faltering grin, though it firms up the longer he looks at her, and she knows he's trying to be strong for her, now as much as always. He checks his watch, a battered heirloom that once belonged to his father, and when he looks at her again she knows it's time to let him go.

"I don't think Andromeda would be happy to hear that you've bailed on this, after all the work she put in getting an interview for you," she replies with a brief laugh, and he joins her, their smiles not quite reaching either pair of eyes. "I'll miss you," she adds, her voice wavering on the last word.

"Hey, don't get soppy on me, Vicky – you promised you wouldn't cry," he reminds her, but he hugs her anyway, his lips lingering near her ear. She hasn't missed the glitter in his eyes that informs her that he isn't as dry-eyed as he's telling her to be, but she doesn't mention it.

"I'm not crying yet, am I? As if I would waste my precious tears on you, Teddy dear," she teases, her voice soft as she mutters into the delicate shell of his ear, his brunette hair mingling with the blonde of hers. She feels him shift in her arms as he checks his dilapidated watch over her shoulder, and when he sighs she can tell that their time is almost up. Her arms wind even more tightly around his waist as if she can physically keep him from leaving her, because no matter how much she has encouraged him to chase his dreams, she really doesn't want him to go and live on a dragon reserve without her for two years.

She stretches up as he leans down slightly and kisses her, a thousand unsaid words passing between them. She tells herself that it's just two years, only seven hundred and thirty days, and it's not that long, really. She doesn't believe her own lies.

"I'll miss you too," he says, untangling himself from her with a look of what she suspects is reluctance. She hopes it is, as selfish as that sounds; he hopes he'll miss her just as much as she'll miss him, no matter how cheerful she's acted about his departure. That's how they've always dealt with things over their nineteen years of friendship, pasting smiles and laughter over the cracks in their lives, and until now she's never really wished that they acted otherwise. Now, two minutes before he leaves her for a country she has never set foot in, she wishes he was the kind of guy who would fall to his knees and proclaim his everlasting love for her – or better yet, not leave her at all.

It's selfish, she knows it is, and when it comes down to it she would choose Teddy over any other boy, hopelessly romantic or not, because he's her best friend and she loves him, and he turned out to be a surprisingly good kisser once she got past his inability to keep his morphing in control when they get a little too hot and heavy.

He presses a last kiss to her lips and takes a step back, and she can't bring herself to speak as she watches him walk into the darkness and pick up the Portkey that will take him to the other side of the world from her.

* * *

><p><em>Teddy,<em>

_My dad thinks you're an idiot, you know that? Mum, of course, loves the fact that you went to all the trouble of finding dozens of charmed purple roses and getting them sent to me at work several times a day._

_It was sweet, I'll give you that. I guess you're a little bit romantic after all._

_Maisie's engaged, did you hear? She owled me yesterday; apparently Callum finally proposed, after a year and a half of carrying the ring around in his pocket and dithering about 'the perfect moment'. Honestly, it's not that hard. It's four words – will you marry me? And no, Teddy, that isn't a proposal._

_At least you'll have to come back for the wedding, right? I miss you, and you won't pass up the opportunity to see me, will you? Consider your answer carefully._

_How are all the dragons? And Uncle Charlie? I hope your leg burns have healed up again. That's the third time since you transferred over there. After a year of handling dragons, any normal person would have figured out how to avoid getting burnt in the same place every time._

_I can't believe it's been eight months since I last saw you._

_Love,_

_Victoire_

* * *

><p>"And a hot chocolate with sprinkles for you, Adam," she grins, placing the cup onto the table in front of her, twisting her wrist just in time to stop some of the liquid from pouring out. The seven year old reaches out for the mug with sticky fingers, and she messes his hair up fondly as she walks back to the counter, purposely avoiding the rambunctious couple in the corner gesturing for her to serve them. She loves her job, really – Muggles are far more interesting and diverse than wizards, she's found - but she knows from experience that people like those two will dither for hours over how much milk they want in their coffee, and she's far too tired to deal with that right now.<p>

She becomes aware of a figure leaning over her and fixes a pleasant expression on her face, though inwardly she's despairing at the apricot jam stains dotting her shirt. "Hi, how may I- Teddy?" she gasps in surprise as she looks up and recognises the person before her, breaking into a smile that makes her cheeks hurt.

"Hey, stranger. Long time no see," Teddy replies with a matching smile, leaning towards her as she practically straddles the counter in her quest to touch him, hug him, kiss any skin she can reach, stretching her arms out to entwine them with his. "Someone's happy to see me," he teases, and she simply widens her grin, ignoring the scandalised looks directed at them from the couple in the corner. The rest of the coffeehouse's patrons look delighted for her, having heard so much about their favourite waitress' missing boyfriend.

"I love you," she says, looking up into his face and feeling the words slip out involuntarily. They don't often say that they love each other; they don't need to, they just know it, and the words hold more weight each and every time they say it.

"Step back," he responds, and she immediately lets go of his hands and tumbles off the counter without asking for a reason. He's too impulsive to spend a moment explaining whatever it is to her, and she's in less danger if she simply does as he says. She'll find out what it is soon enough, anyway. She watches with a lingering grin as he sits on the counter and swings his legs around so he faces her, before jumping down and sweeping her into a hug.

"I love you too," he mumbles into her hair, and she laughs as his hands tighten around her waist and pick her up off the ground. She has forgotten that they're in public, and that there's a half-full room of customers watching their reunion, but it really doesn't matter to her. She's seeing Teddy again for the first time in far too long, and the old man watching them from his seat can clap if he wants to.

"There is a door, you know," she tells him, rolling her eyes at his surprise. "How did you think we get in and out of the shop, then?"

"But you have to admit, my way was cooler," he says, and she kisses him, because he's really too adorable sometimes and anyway, it's the best way to shut him up.

* * *

><p>A knock sounds from her front door and Victoire dashes down the stairs, taking them two at a time and almost tripping over the last step as her left shoe slides off her foot. Hopping the rest of the way to the door, she pushes her shoe back on and unlocks the door to her apartment, turning the doorhandle seconds later.<p>

"I'm as bored as something incredibly bored. Save me!" Teddy exclaims dramatically the moment she opens the door, prompting a laugh from her that makes her wonder how she could be so lucky, to fall in love with someone who makes life feel so easy.

"The damsel in distress, are we?" she teases, pulling a hair tie off the nearest door handle and yanking it through her messy blonde curls to pull it into a loose ponytail.

"Does that make you Prince Charming?" he asks in reply, casually leaning against the doorframe and concentrating deeply to force the colour of his hair to match hers.

"Well, now you look like my brother, and I'd rather not kiss my brother, since that's pretty gross. And illegal," she adds mock-thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling with humour as she pretends not to notice the hasty change of his hair colour to an inky black that looks nothing like her strawberry-blonde locks.

"Do I get a kiss now?" he asks hopefully, and she laughs as she obliges him with a light kiss on his temple, exactly where a lone freckle decorates his skin. She skips out the door, her hair swinging behind her as she pulls a key from her pocket and locks the door with a click.

"Come with me," she tells him with a smile, holding out her hand expectantly as an idea forms in her mind of where she'll take him. Their time together was always simple; the one and only time they had gone to a fancy dinner together they had hated it, leaving before the appetizers arrived and leaving behind a post-it note with a smiley face.

"Are you taking me to your castle, Princess Charming?" he asks, but he takes her hand anyway and they exit the room and step onto the dusty street, the two wizards mingling with the crowd of Muggles rushing around them. She tugs him towards an empty seat, pushing past people determinedly and collapsing onto the seat seconds before another couple. She giggles at Teddy's self-satisfied expression at having beaten the other pair; he's always been competitive and she's always loved that about him.

She twines their hands together and scans the crowd, searching for the perfect person to demonstrate the game to, planning on showing her boyfriend something that entertained her when she was a little girl with the concentration abilities of Teddy.

"Okay, look over there," she says, discreetly nodding her head in the direction of a woman in purple velvet who reminds her of Grandma Molly. "She was once a Belgian princess, but she ran away to join the circus when she was eighteen," she tells him with a smile, though inside she's hurting because they still don't know where Lily is, apart from the few letters delivered to Victoire's front door twice a month. Teddy squeezes her hand in sympathy and matches her smile, and she finds herself gravitating towards him to lean her head on his shoulder. "And that guy-"

"Was the ringmaster of the circus for thirteen years until he married his star trapeze artist," he finishes, catching the eye of the heavily-moustached brunette walking past their bench. She laughs appreciatively, continuing the story of the Belgian trapeze artist and her husband the ringmaster, and they spend the rest of summer on their bench, making up dreams and past lives for the people who walk by.

* * *

><p>"You've got some flour on your nose," he tells her, reaching out and touching a fingertip to the bridge of her nose, leaving a mark there. She grins wickedly and reaches behind her into the mixing bowl, delicately dipping her thumb into the concoction and quickly drawing a line down his cheek with it.<p>

"We're playing dirty, are we?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in a manner so reminiscent of her sister that she has to laugh, prompting him to dot her face with flour again.

"Oh, this is war," she returns playfully, flicking yet more flour in his direction and bursting into laughter at the look of astonishment on his face as dust settles in his hair. He tackles her then, pulling her to the floor of the kitchen and running flour covered hands through her hair, though she's too busy covering every inch of his shirt with the raw egg that was dropped on the floor before the chaos started. She has only a moment to reflect ruefully back on that morning, when she had proposed they make cupcakes to celebrate Lily's recent return, before Teddy pins her shoulders to the ground and she finds herself looking up into his face.

"You have sugar in your hair," she mumbles, a laugh disrupting her voice, and she's unsurprised when he kisses her, his scarred hands tangled in her strawberry-blonde curls as she fumbles with the bottom of his shirt, her fingers slipping in the butter-coloured mixture coating the two of them.

"Teddy, the cupcakes," she starts, regretfully pushing him away, and he draws away from her with a low groan that just makes her want to start kissing him again. She pulls herself onto her knees and links their hands together with an apologetic expression, kissing him briefly on the lips before starting to stand up. Teddy doesn't move, remaining kneeling on the floor with his hand captured in hers, a silver ring clasped between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand.

"I love you, Victoire," he starts, and shakes his head when she tries to speak. "Please, let me finish. I love you. Sometimes I think I've loved you since you shoved picked gum off the sidewalk and stuck it in my hair," he laughs and she grins, a wide grin that makes the world light up and revolve around her, because much like Teddy and his Metamorphmagusing, she finds it hard to control the Veela side of her when she's emotional. "We've been through a lot, and I- I love you. Victoire, will you marry me?"

Her heart starts dancing in her chest, the blood pumping through her veins keeping time as she forgets how to breathe, because this is the moment she questioned would happen this way (she loves him, but no one can deny he's the flightiest person they've ever met), and her thoughts dart to the silver band in her pocket. She laughs, a rough sound at odds with her delicate appearance and the current situation, but immediately cuts herself short as Teddy's face falls and he lets go of her hand.

"Teddy," she drops to the ground again and kneels in the mess that covers the cream tiles, leaning forward and taking his hand again so they are almost mirror images of each other. "I love you. As I once told Roxanne when I was drunk, there's something about you that makes me all sparkly inside. Don't laugh," she warns as his stoic expression threatens to crack into a smile. "You know what I mean – you make me want to be a better person, and that's why," she slips her free hand into her pocket and extracts a thick silver band, "I wanted to ask you to marry me today. Obviously, you got there first. But will you marry me anyway?" she asks, and his smile is like the sun and hers is twice as bright, their eyes twin pairs of supernovas in their happiness.

"Only if you agree to marry me," he teases, and slips the silver and turquoise ring on her finger, waiting for a moment while she does the same for him with the silver band. This time she doesn't pull away when he presses their lips back together, because they're engaged now and she loves him, and there's really not a lot they can salvage from the ruined cupcake mix anyway.

* * *

><p>Their story plays out as it should, a perfect fairytale that's tainted by reality, because she is Victoire and he is Teddy, and they live for the little moments.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>an: please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thanks.**


	19. i heard the streets were paved with gold

**Title:** i heard the streets were paved with gold  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Lily/Teddy  
><strong>Author: <strong>Aimy (lonely hands)  
><strong>For: <strong>Kaye (what stars are)**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>i swore i'd chase until i was dead<br>i heard the streets were paved with gold  
><em>radio ; lana del rey

* * *

><p>More than anything, she wants to be told that life is beautiful.<p>

She'd be the girl with the cold eyes; that girl dancing all night and singing all day and all the fucking, all the fuck-ups, it'd all be worth it. She could kiss the boys in the dark and have them stay in the light of day.

But she's Lily and she burns and it hurts, it hurts.

* * *

><p>She packs up and leaves at just seventeen and when he looks at her <em>like that<em> she thinks maybe he could ask her to stay.

* * *

><p>It's easy enough being on your own, she realizes, but being alone isn't quite the same thing.<p>

She meets a girl who calls herself Mags and then a boy comes along, a boy called Tom, and things get complicated but better. Mags takes her in and Tom tells her she's pretty and Lily sometimes forgets herself and smiles.

Smiles and laughs and still hurts but the good sort of hurt that warms her from the inside-out.

"S'not much," Mags breezes, leading Lily by the hand, "But it's all mine," and maybe Lily deflates, just a little. It's sort of a dump and Mags is sort of a nothing, but Tom smiles and winks and shrugs like it's not half-true.

And Lily holds Mags' hand and Tom waves and slinks off and Mags laughs and looks like she wants to follow.

* * *

><p>Days trickle past without her notice and Lily passes the time curled in Mags' bed.<p>

They play the same three CD's over and over, lisping the lyrics huskily into hairbrushes and tripping over each other as they bounce and dance about on the sheets. They shout and scream and holler at the walls and Lily feels perhaps invincible when there's no-one on the other side to tell her not to.

And when she gets hungry, Mags fixes her cereal and when she moves Lily can count every bone in her rib-cage.

"Tom'll come over today," Mags repeats on monotone and every day he doesn't she eats a little less. Lily slurps at her cereal and pours Mags a bowl and bites her lip when the blonde lines them up one-by-one on the headboard.

"Do you have any money?" Lily thinks to ask, just the once. Mags turns to her, wide eyes drooping. She shrugs, giggles and flicks a cheerio. "We could go out for a burger, or something?"

Mags shakes her head slowly, cropped curls bouncing gently. "I wouldn't want to miss Tom."

Lily doesn't thinks to ask again.

* * *

><p>One morning, Lily wakes to find Mags picking at the keys of her battered mobile phone.<p>

"Hey," Lily grumbles sleepily, "That's mine," she pushes herself into a sitting position to reach for the phone, "Don't go through my things, Mags," she adds as her fingers close over the screen.

"You have a load of missed calls," Mags says, smiling.

Lily shrugs slowly. "That's okay," she replies, slipping from the covers and stumbling to her bag, "I'm going to put this back here, okay? Don't look at it again. I'll find someplace else to stay."

Mags frowns. "You don't have to do that."

"Okay," says Lily quickly, "I won't. It's fine."

Smile firmly back in place, Mags bounds up from the bed and disappears out into the corridor. "Come on," she calls, "I'll make you breakfast! Hurry up, Tom'll come over today! We need to straighten this place up."

Lily sighs.

"Here you go," Mags announces, sliding a bowl towards her as Lily reaches the kitchen and grabs a chair, "This'll buck you right up," she says, grinning, before pouring vodka over Lily's cheerios.

Pursing her lips, Lily glances up at Mag's beaming face. "I guess," Lily mutters, reaching for a spoon and digging in, "It won't hurt."

"Exactly!" Mags agrees, sipping straight from the bottle. "You know, I think there's this gig in a few days. Tom's taking me, he promised. Wanna come? He won't mind, I'm sure. He thinks you're cool."

Lily nods and tries not to think too much into it.

* * *

><p>"Hello, beautiful."<p>

Lily hears Mags giggle as she leads Tom into the Living Room. "I knew you'd come see me," Mags slurs, "I said you'd come. Didn't I, Lily? I was right, wasn't I? I knew you wouldn't let me down."

Tom grins as he falls beside Lily on the couch, Mags following and landing with a soft _thump_ on his lap.

"How are you girls, tonight?" Tom asks, completely focused on Lily. "Had a little pre-drink, have you? Been drinking all morning, I'll bet. Isn't that right, Maggie?" He laughs, throwing an arm around Lily.

"_Mags_," Mags informs him primly, "I don't like 'Maggie.'"

Lily shifts a little uncomfortably. "Maybe I should put Mags to bed," she suggests loudly, straightening up and attempting to pulls the girl from Tom's lap. Mags giggles madly, falling further back.

"Good idea," Tom agrees, pushing out from beneath her, "You sit down, Lily. I'll tuck Maggie up and then we can hang out, just the two of us."

Slumping, Lily nods. She steps aside as Tom helps Mags to her feet, leading the way to the bedroom with the two of them trailing behind in her wake. "Just through here," Lily instructs, flipping on lights along the way.

"Night, lovely," Tom says, guiding Mags to the bed, "You get some rest now, okay?" He frowns shortly as she makes to argue. "No, babe. I'm taking you to that gig, remember? We can talk all you want there."

Lily hovers. "Do you need me to call a cab?"

Throwing the covers over Mags, Tom turns. "Why?" He asks, tone light and teasing. "Want to get rid of me? There was me, thinking we could hang out; get to know each other a little better."

He laughs softly, backing her out of the room.

"Of course not," she replies with a smile, "Stay, if you like. I didn't think you'd want to bother without Mags. She's pretty fucked, isn't she? I guess she's had more to drink that I'd thought."

Tom claps his hands together. "Great," he says, rubbing his hands together slowly, "I'll get us both a drink, shall I? You sit down. You look exhausted."

_I _am _exhausted_, Lily thinks. "Thanks," she voices aloud, "I'm just going to run and get my phone really quick, okay? Back in a sec," she motions back in the direction of the bedroom, before going to check on Mags.

The blonde is snoring softly as Lily rifles through her bag. Picking out the phone, she shoves it in her pocket.

"Here's that drink!" Tom calls through, popping his head around the door. "Everything all right? She's dead to the world, look! You're a good friend, Lily, putting her to bed like that."

Lily flushes. "I'm coming through right now," she says uneasily, taking the glass from his hand and smiling her thanks, "I shouldn't have too much, though. It won't be great if both me _and _Mags wake up with hangovers."

"Agreed," Tom laughs.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Lily wakes with a throbbing headache and a very stiff neck.<p>

"Your phone's vibrating against my leg," groans a male voice, "Can you answer it or switch the fucking thing off? There's a girl," he turns, pulling his leg from her thigh. Her very exposed-to-him thigh.

"Um," Lily replies, digging around to reach the back pocket of her skirt, "Right. Uh, hello?"

The roaring voice on the other end is undoubtedly Teddy's. "What the _fuck_, Lily? Where are you? Who are you with? You've had everyone worried _sick_. Just... _what the fuck_, _Lily_?"

Lily cringes. "Listen, Teddy. It's early. My head hurts. So, please. Go fuck yourself."

Something against her back shakes. Lily starts in alarm, before remembering the male voice from before. She turns slowly. "Hi," Tom chirps, laughing, whilst motioning at the phone, "Lemme have a talk with this guy."

Lily hands over the phone numbly. "What _happened _last night?"

Tapping a finger against his nose with one hand and juggling the phone with the other, Tom plants a noisy kiss on the corner of her mouth. "I'm sorry," Tom says into the phone, "But Lily is a little busy right now."

He hangs up to the buzz of Teddy's string of swear words.

"_What did we do_, Tom?"

Tom chuckles. "Oh, Lily," he replies, raising an eyebrow, "You slept in the shower. With me. And you seem to have misplaced your knickers. I don't think it'll take you too long to figure out."

Her mouth straightens into a thin line, eyes hard. "Fuck that."

"Let's not mention this to Mags, hey? Wouldn't want to break her heart."

* * *

><p>They go to the gig, just like Mags said.<p>

Only, Tom leaves a post-it on the bathroom mirror, asking Lily, and Mags doesn't eat at all for three days and tells Lily she loves her five times in an hour and presses sly kisses to her collarbone when she least expects it.

"Maybe this isn't such a great idea," Lily whispers furiously to Mags, wiping at the lipstick on Mags teeth with a wad of tissue, "I don't really think he's going to show, after all. Let's not go."

Mags smiles manically. "He'll show. He _promised_."

Lily is torn between putting Mag's head through the mirror and hugging her. "I'm not feeling well," she lies desperately, turning Mag's face gently to look at her, "I don't want to go."

"Then I'll go alone," Mags replies firmly, "Tom'll come over today."

Lily sighs. "Tom'll come over today," she mimics, sick to the stomach with the both of them.

* * *

><p>"I <em>told <em>you," Mags hisses, griping Lily's arm hard, "He _promised_."

Tom turns to flash them a grin. "Maggie, you go in ahead, okay? I've got a special spot reserved, just for you. We'll catch up with you in just a sec alright, darling? That's it. Save me a dance!"

Grimacing, Lily reaches for Mags as Tom pushes her into the throng of people drifting into the club. "I'll go with Mags!"

He smiles. "Ah, but Lily! There's someone who wants to meet you, sweetie. I can make you a star! You can sing, right? This guy, he can help you make it big. Anything you want, babe."

Losing sight of Mags, Lily shakes her head. "I'm going back to Mags."

"Nah," Tom says, traipsing an arm around her shoulders and marching her round to the back entrance, "That's not what you want. We'll get you a drink, calm your nerves and then we'll get you up on that stage, yeah?"

Lily stops short, throwing him off. "Stop. Just _stop_. This is all going way too fast."

His mouth twitches. "Well, that's alright. We'll just have a dance. That's alright, isn't it? We'll go get Maggie and we'll have a good time. I promise you, Lily. You'll have a good time."

But no, she'd already said. If she could just slip free of his grip; reach her wand from her left boot and either hex him straight between the eyes, or at least Disapparate right under his nose.

"We'll go find Mags," and it's enough to make her think twice but Merlin only knows why, "Straight after."

* * *

><p>He ends up ditching her as soon as someone starts up a conversation with him, but he doesn't let her get away unnoticed without stuffing something small and plastic into her hand.<p>

Lily straightens her shoulders and narrows her eyes and thinks she'll just throw the pills in the nearest bin but they're small and prettily coloured and she wonders if he wants her to sell them.

She's no drug dealer and she's no smack-head but maybe, just this once, she could do something a little more reckless than booze and fags and boys and looking out for Mags is _exhausting_, okay.

And they're easy to swallow and she finds herself a pretty boy to buy her drinks and it all goes down so smoothly. The pills and the drink and the sweet nothings he whispers in her ears and she doesn't even mind when he tries to kiss her.

Because Tom is watching her like she's his and she's not or maybe she is but she shouldn't like to be.

* * *

><p>At some point the pretty boy leaves her with not much more than his number in lipstick on her wrist and the taste of his whiskey kisses and she's dancing with Tom and he's got stars in his eyes. He shines and she shines and they shine and it doesn't hurt, not at all.<p>

She thinks if she leaned in close enough she could pull the glitter from the sockets and breathe in the shimmer if she could just catch one of his eyelashes and he's very beautiful, she realizes, but beautiful boys hurt.

Beautiful boys hurt pretty girls and average girls and then girls like her. Girls who drink and fuck and have walking disaster stamped across their foreheads. Girls who have reality shows or girls in films or girls on the front page of the newspapers.

The kind of girl that gets into a lot of trouble.

He'd be her trouble if her trouble wasn't old and cowardly and Teddy. Teddy, who she sees in the girl with the bubblegum pink hair and the boy with the blonde girl on his arm and Tom, the beautiful one, because Teddy was beautiful, too. The Teddy, she remembers. He'd been beautiful.

The Teddy sitting across from Mags is not beautiful. That Teddy is tired and red and clutching a bottle of vodka. That Teddy is here and that Teddy will take away the stars and replace them with something normal and dull and Teddy like coffee.

* * *

><p>She's lost Tom somewhere in the mist of stars and colours and Teddy and Mags and she thinks, wow, nothing hurts. It doesn't even hurt when his mouth does that frowny thing or when Mags trotts off after Tom like a puppy dog and what's really great is that it doesn't hurt one bit when he speaks.<p>

"You need to come home, Lils," he's saying, but she's not really listening. She's listening to the thumping of her heart and the beat of the music and the giggling of the girl at the bar. Merlin, she wants to laugh, too.

Lily doesn't speak, because that was always's Teddy's forte. Instead she smiles and takes his hands and tells him they should dance and thinks how she'd like to kiss away the traces of his frown. He's so much prettier with a smile.

And Teddy almost kind of smiles all by his self and Lily can finally laugh and be like the girl at the bar who isn't a walking disaster and has stars that aren't Tom's. She thinks Teddy could have stars for eyes, if only he'd hold her and tell her he loved her and smiled a little more often.

"Everyone has been so worried about you, Lily," Teddy mutters and he doesn't let go of her hands, but looks like he wants to, "What am I supposed to tell your parents? They were so hoping you were doing something wonderful."

But this is wonderful, Lily thinks. Her and Teddy and the stars. What could possibly be more wonderful?

* * *

><p>Lily looks up and Teddy isn't there and Tom's lost his stars.<p>

His face is inches from hers and he's screaming and Mags is glaring and where is Teddy, where? Her head is pounding and she misses the stars and she misses Teddy almost half as much, only not, much more.

And Tom is kissing her and Mags is crying, she thinks, and Teddy isn't there but the stars are in her head and they hurt, they hurt, but it's an okay kind of hurt. The kind of hurt that makes kissing Tom seem okay.

But it's not, because Teddy was there but now he's gone and she has this nagging feeling like he's not coming back. It's alright, when Tom smooths her hair and shushes Mag with a wave of his hand and tells Lily she's special and they're gonna make it and she's gonna feel wonderful.

Wonderful. Just like they wanted. So Lily says yes, it will be wonderful. And smiles and laughs and cries and thinks Teddy, where did you go, Teddy, why did you bother, Teddy? Fucking hate you, Teddy.

A lot, but not and Daddy won't be proud and Mum has sad eyes but Teddy'll say he tried even though he was scared. She was scared too, she'd say, but she's not there, she's here.

And it's not okay, but it'll be wonderful.

* * *

><p><strong>an: please don't favourite without leaving a review, thanks.**


	20. untitled iii rosescorpius

**Title:** untitled  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Rose/Scorpius  
><strong>Author: <strong>Nic (symphonies of you)  
><strong>For:<strong> Sid (loras-tyrells)**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>She hates the idea of clichés; they're redundant, overused, <em>pathetic<em>. That is her excuse for not falling in love with her enemy of six torturous years, Scorpius Malfoy. Unfortunately, accidents happen, and the unexpected happens.

.-.-.

In the [**pungent**] Potions classroom, she wrinkles her freckled nose as she inhales the familiar scent of brewing potions and strange ingredients. She's startled when she catches a whiff of something enticing, something intoxicatingly _good_. A few moments later, she recognizes that the pleasant smell is wafting from a potion in the front of the chilly dungeon.

Rose Nymphadora Weasley is appalled when she realises within the depths of her currently muddled mind that the aroma is also borne of the very bane of her existence.

[But she doesn't realise that the swirling, sparkling substance a few metres away from her is _Amortentia_.]

.-.-.

"Why do you fancy that git? He's not good enough for you!" he states, gritting his teeth and attempting to maintain his emotionless composure.

"Why do you care so _much_, Malfoy? I really don't think it's any of your business to know why I fancy Lysander Scamander," she yells, her face colouring in the process.

Lydia Boot, Rose's supposed best friend, traitorously screeches, "Why don't you two just get together already? The whole bloody school can tell that you both obviously fancy the pants off of each other, everyone except you two dunderheads!"

They both stare at her open-mouthed and absolutely dumbfounded. Then, Rose sneaks a peek at the expression on his face, and her blue eyes widen. It's like she's suddenly looking at him at a different angle, a different magnification through a kaleidoscope. For the first time, she notices the abnormally long eyelashes framing his stormy grey eyes that are incredibly full of tumbling emotions.

His blonde, nearly white, hair is swept over his brow, making him a model of utter perfection. She flushes under his steady, questioning gaze.

Somehow, everything has changed between them in just a few moments.

[For good or worse, they do not know.]

.-.-.

She's in the Library, and she can feel her skin tingle at knowing he's so close, he's only a few centimetres away. And the perplexing sensation fluttering on the inside is killing her.

The fact that they went from being enemies to almost friends is astounding and even more shocking to their professors.

He suddenly looks at her with such intensity that makes her widen her eyes. What is he thinking behind the depths of those captivating grey eyes?

And when he finally kisses her, it's like she is on fire. His touch is electrifying, and it leaves an exhilarating trail blazing across her freckled skin.

[And it's like heaven.]


	21. untitled iv various pairings

**Title:** untitled  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>various  
><strong>Author: <strong>Ellie (with the monsters)  
><strong>For:<strong> Lovisa (lowi)**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>an**: so, when I PMed Lowi to tell her that I'd be writing for her for the NGFs big fic-swap, I jokingly told her that I would write her anything she wanted, even a crossover where the Next Gen all live in Camelot and chill with the Merlin cast. Naturally that was what she wanted, which is the only explanation I have for this. Just… I don't even know.

Very AU. For the purpose of this story, the next generation are not all related. All sibling relationships stand (i.e. Molly and Lucy, James and Albus and Lily, etc). The Potters are the cousins of Rose and Hugo, and also Roxanne and Fred (this relationship is not acknowledged however, because Roxanne and Fred are illegitimate), and Victoire and Dominique and Louis are also vaguely related to Roxanne and Fred. Otherwise everyone is unrelated.

Since this is going in the big collection I'm entering only the first chapter and hopefully others will follow but on my profile because I really can't make people read a 20,000 word chapter without feeling like an absolute cunt.

FOR LOWI WHO IS THE BEST EVER.

* * *

><p><strong>LILY<strong>

The day Lily Luna Potter discovered she was to be married was, in all other respects, a perfectly average day. She was woken at a ridiculously early hour by her maidservant dropping her breakfast all over the floor, which did not put her in the best of moods to start with.

"Gods, Roxanne," she complained, rolling over onto her side and pulling a pillow over her head, "Not _again_?"

"Sorry, my lady," Roxanne apologised hastily, and Lily could hear the scuffles as she clearly knelt to try to clear the mess up, "I'll send down to the kitchens for another right away, I'll be right back with it."

"Urgh," was Lily's only reply, her tone muffled by the pillow that was covering her face. Groaning slightly as she realised that she was well and truly awake now, and would not likely be getting back to sleep any time soon, she shoved the pillow away and sat up in bed. Absently, she picked up a loose curl that had worked its way free of the rest of her hair during the night, and tugged it straight to examine the length of it.

"What d'you reckon?" she inquired of Roxanne, looking across to where her maid was on her hands and knees gathering up ham, "Getting longer?"

"I think so, my lady," Roxanne told her, squinting upwards to study the length more closely, "It has been – what, three months – since your brother cut it? In fact I would say it's growing extraordinarily fast."

"It's that stuff Gaius gave me," Lily explained, throwing back the covers and clambering out of bed, feet sinking into the fluffy sheepskin rug on the floor as she tugged her nightgown where it had become twisted overnight, "Thank the gods you keep remembering to put it in my hair, I'd forget in a second."

Padding past Roxanne, bare feet cold on the stone floor, Lily gave the other girl a broad grin before she disappeared behind the screen. Roxanne had already set out her dress for the day, and Lily discarded her nightgown without another thought, reaching for her petticoats and beginning to clamber into them. Absorbed in the task, she didn't hear the door to her chambers open and shut, nor the whispered conversation that evidently took place as the newcomer set down plates of food on the table.

Oblivious, Lily waltzed out from behind her screen, dress flapping all over the place, a command for Roxanne to come and lace her up dying on her lips as she encountered someone she was still furious with standing in the middle of her room like he owned it, his manservant hurriedly laying breakfast for two out on the table.

"James," Lily said, folding her arms and giving him a glare, "Didn't I tell you that I would make sure you regretted it if you spoke to me within the month?"

"Give it up," her older brother replied impatiently, rolling his eyes for extra effect, "You know you love me far too much to hold a grudge for that long."

"In your dreams," Lily retorted snootily, imperiously holding out her arms for Roxanne to come and lace her dress up as though her brother wasn't even in the room. Despite her clear disinterest in his presence, James stuck around with a smirk on his face, looking like he was really quite enjoying being so irritating. Then again, this was James, so he probably genuinely _was_ enjoying it.

By the time Lily was fully dressed, breakfast was ready. She waved away Roxanne and James' manservant and the pair disappeared out of the door, leaving the siblings to bicker over their food. Lily seated herself, twisting her hair over one shoulder to tame it so she could eat without it going anywhere.

"Wouldn't make more sense to just tie it back like the other ladies?" James inquired from opposite her, picking at slices of apple.

"It would," Lily informed him in an icy tone, "But unfortunately some village idiot chopped it off a little while back so it's too short to do much with."

"Hey," James protested, waving an apple slice in her general direction, "I resent that. I would say I'm certainly at least court jester level."

"You wish," Lily retorted calmly, beginning to eat in a manner that would have made her mother wince. Table manners were a distant second to the importance of getting food in her mouth as quickly as possible. For a while the two siblings ate in silence, but finally it appeared that James was not going to be able to hold back his secret for much longer. He'd been fidgeting since he'd arrived in that distinctly _James _manner that meant he was absolutely dying to tell her something but couldn't quite bring himself to let go of the secret just yet.

"So," he began, a note of pure childish delight in his voice as he leant forward, propping his elbows up on the table, "Guess what Father wrote to tell me this morning?"

Lily just looked at him, mouth full of pear, and gave an exaggerated shrug, accompanied by an eye roll to let him know that she wasn't really that interested – although she was – and went back to her food.

"He sent you a letter about it too but I read it," James confessed, looking not very sorry at all, and Lily privately resolved to have a word with Sir Leon later and get him paired up against the unbeatable Sir Lancelot in the next joust.

"Tell me then," she ordered finally, giving up all pretence of ignoring him and leaning back in her chair, hands folded onto her stomach, "And if this is just some news about your childhood pony kicking the bucket I can tell you right now that -"

"You're getting married," James broke in triumphantly, giving her the widest grin she'd ever seen him wear, his dark eyes glittering with that wicked sort of mischief particular to him, his whole body tense as he waited eagerly for her reaction.

Lily, unusually, found herself at a total loss for words. Oh, certainly, she'd been _expecting _to be married off before long; she was fourteen now, she'd been a woman for a year already – in fact she was the perfect age for marriage now – but she had definitely not expected to get the news from her brother over breakfast. Trying not to show how much she was panicking on the inside, she calmly reached for her goblet and inquired, "To whom?"

James was almost beside himself with glee, "Theodore," he announced, practically bouncing in his seat, "Lord of Dunmoore and Craister."

Lily tried and failed not to look delighted. Lord Lupin was most definitely a fine wealthy catch, and handsome to boot – she wasn't about to lie to herself that that didn't matter to her – and all the girls swooned over him whenever he came to Camelot to enter in jousts or tourneys. Add that to the fact that his lands bordered her father's, so she had even conversed with him on occasion... yes, Lily thought to herself with a small stab of satisfaction, her father had really done her proud this time. It was to be expected, of course – little was denied to the lord who had slain the greatest sorcerer of the age during The Great Purge twenty years previously, though he'd been little more than a boy at the time.

However, there was one small concern that Lily could not help from voicing, even though she knew her brother would mercilessly rib the small sign of weakness.

"Isn't he old, though?" she ventured quietly, not meeting James' eyes, "Like, as old as Sir Leon?"

James rolled his eyes over at her scornfully, shaking his head for added effect, "Don't be stupid, they're barely old at all. Gaius is _old_. Teddy's only twenty five, he'll be in his prime for years and years."

"He's ten years older than me," Lily told him morosely, pushing away her plate as her appetite fled, picking at her sleeve, "I mean, he's very handsome, but… what will we talk about?"

"Marriage isn't for _talking_," James replied impatiently, rising from his seat and sweeping his cloak about his shoulders, clearly deciding he had better places to be, "Everyone knows that. Marriage is for children and money and rank. You should count yourself lucky you're getting Teddy and not Lord Ulwic like Rose nearly did."

Lily shuddered at the memory of the man and the time he'd come to visit herself and her cousin Rose at court. His breath had stunk of ale and his belly had spilled out over his sword belt, and he'd leered at them both and let his hands linger on Rose's waist much longer than was appropriate and he had no hair anywhere on his head but thick wiry bristles growing from his nostrils. To both girls' enormous relief, Rose's mother had talked her father out of the betrothal despite the wealth it would have brought him.

As James moved to leave, Lily called after him, "Can you get someone to send Roxanne to me? I need her to do my hair."

"Don't look too pretty," James ordered with a wink, pausing in the doorway and glancing back at her, "You're not allowed to tempt boys now, you're to be a married woman."

He slammed the door shut before the cushion Lily threw could hit him in the head.

* * *

><p><strong>SCORPIUS<strong>

Scorpius woke up next to Albus Potter again. He bit back a groan of pain as the banging in his head registered, and he gingerly levered himself up on one elbow to look over Al's sleeping form and take a glance at the table. As he'd feared, it was strewn with empty bottles and tankards, and now he thought about it there was definitely a hint of that sour stale alcohol smell hanging in the air. He'd come to Potter to discuss things that he hated discussing, namely what exactly they were doing here, but halfway between his explanation about his father and his ninth ale he'd found Albus' mouth doing amazing things to his neck and all rational thought had vanished hastily out of the window.

Now, clutching manically at his head and trying not to cry with the pain, he swung himself out of bed and reached for his trousers, having to carefully consider each movement before he carried it through for fear his head would fall off.

"Leaving so soon?" a low voice inquired from behind him, and Scorpius winced as it screeched against his ear drums.

"Why are you screaming?" he asked in a pained whisper, not turning around to look at Albus as he pulled his boots on, "Speak more quietly."

"I'm not screaming," Albus announced in an amused tone, making Scorpius' eyes swim with the pain. Albus, Scorpius found himself remembering, had consumed considerably less ale than him, and was obviously feeling rather pleased with himself now. To be honest, though, Albus was a smug little bastard in general, and Scorpius found himself regularly irritated with the other boy – and yet there was this certain smile Al would wear from time to time, and Scorpius didn't like the things it did to his heart.

Scorpius turned to find that smile creeping across Al's visage now, slowly and steadily and self-contentedly.

"Seriously," he whispered, unable to bear talking any louder, "I meant what I said last night. This has to stop."

"Okay, Scorpius," Albus replied with a fond eye roll, leaning in, sheets bunching sinfully around his hips and leaving Scorpius' eyes unable to decide where to look first, "Whatever you say."

When he kissed him, Scorpius didn't push him away. He hated himself for it later, but with Albus Potter there wasn't much Scorpius could do to resist.

A short while later Scorpius was wandering down the corridor that led from Albus' chambers to his own. He knew that he must look a sight, his hair a mess, his jacket flung carelessly over one shoulder, his lips bruised and moving absently as he muttered furiously under his breath. He was a _prince_, for crying out loud, he should absolutely _not _let some Camelot lord's son get to him like this. Turning a corner sharply, he was so absorbed in his problems he almost ran somebody down.

He clutched hastily at their arm to stop them from toppling, but released them suddenly like he'd been burned as he recognised Albus' little sister Lily. She reeled backwards into her maidservant who steadied her, and took a moment to dust herself off.

"I'm sorry, my lady," Scorpius apologised with less grace than usual – he was not in the mood for Potters today – and gave her a quick bow, "I didn't see you. The fault is entirely mine."

"Yes, probably, your highness," Lily agreed amiably, those green eyes sweeping him up and down in one swift unsettling movement, narrowing as they came to rest on the marks that littered his neck, "I trust you spent a good night?"

He could tell she was thinking of prostitutes and tavern whores, and while half of him wanted to shatter her silly childish façade of superiority and adulthood by informing her that it was her brother who was responsible, the other half knew exactly what would happen if he did. He did the sensible thing, and kept quiet.

"It was pleasant," he agreed lightly, inclining his head, "Now, if you'll excuse me, my lady, I have urgent business with Prince Arthur."

"He's in the lists," Lily informed him graciously, standing aside with a short bobbing curtsey, "Sparring with my brother. James," she added hastily, as if she had seen the flash of interest in Scorpius' eyes. Scorpius was well-trained enough not to make a face of disgust, although he sorely wanted to – James Potter and he were not the most amiable of acquaintances – but instead he gave Lily another quick bow and, without another word, swept on.

He discarded the idea of heading for the lists instantly. He could wait before talking to the prince. Instead, he headed down to the physician's chambers in search of something for his hangover. When he reached Gaius' quarters, the man himself wasn't there, but Scorpius did encounter Prince Arthur's manservant, Merlin, on his hands and knees scrubbing out a leech tank.

"My lord," the other boy said, banging his head on the glass as he scrambled hastily to his feet and wincing, "Can I help you with something?"

"Something for a hangover, if you have it," Scorpius ordered with barely suppressed impatience, seriously doubtful of Merlin's ability to aid him – Arthur was forever going on about what a nitwit he was. Merlin looked thoughtful for a moment and then, plucking a leech off his arm with an air of disgust, the boy strode over to a cupboard and began rummaging around inside it. He knocked four bottles onto the floor before he produced something green and foul-looking, which he proffered triumphantly to Scorpius.

"That'll be two silver pieces," he said once he'd given it over, with a hasty air like he'd almost forgotten to ask, and added with an apologetic shrug, "Gaius says I have to remember to get payment immediately."

Scorpius, not in the mood for any more talking, dug around until he found the requisite money and handed it over without another word. He spun on his heel and left immediately, not even looking back at another crash from behind him as Merlin evidently knocked something else over.

He drained the bottle in three swift gulps as he climbed the stairs outside the physicians chambers, and left the bottle sitting on a windowsill for a maid to pick up. The effects began to kick in almost immediately, and, feeling much more cheerful, it was in a much more pleasant mood that he halted a passing maid. He knew her by sight – she was the missing Lady Morgana's maidservant, with soft smooth skin the same tone as Lily's maid Roxanne's.

"My lord," she said, curtseying hastily, and Scorpius offered her a quick, rare smile.

"Could you possibly send my manservant to me if you see him?" he inquired charmingly, running a hand through his messy blonde hair as he spoke, "I need him to clean my chambers and polish my armour."

The maid looked like she was biting back a smile, although Scorpius wasn't entirely sure why, but she just curtseyed again with a nod to indicate she would do so, and without another thought Scorpius marched on. He would get dressed into something cleaner, he thought, and then mayhap head to the archery range for some practice. Perhaps Albus would come and practice with him.

With that thought in mind, Scorpius sped up a little, heading down the corridor towards his chambers.

* * *

><p><strong>VICTOIRE<strong>

Victoire got the news first from her sister. Dominique rushed into the brothel where Victoire lived, pushing her hood back from her face to reveal pretty features smudged by soot where she'd clearly been busy cleaning out kitchen fireplaces.

"On fireplace duty _again_, Dom?" Victoire inquired with a fond eye roll, pushing her sister into a chair and heading over to her basin, wetting a sponge and returning to clean her sister's face. Irritably, Dominique twisted away from her sister's deft fingers, trying to escape the sponge.

"I came to tell you something!" she announced, writhing to no avail since Victoire had grasped her chin firmly to stop her moving so much. Dominique tried once more, "Don't you want to hear? It's about that lord you're so fond of, the one that visits you a lot. What's his name – oh, Dunemud or something? James did tell me—"

"Dunmoore," Victoire replied calmly, determined not to let herself be interested until her sister was presentable again, "Lord Theodore of Dunmoore and Craister. What about him?"

"He's—" Dominique began, putting in one more wriggle, and then fastened her hand around her sister's wrist to keep it away from her face while she imparted this important news, "He's getting _married_, Vic."

Victoire did her best not to react. Proper ladies didn't, she knew. Proper ladies kept their emotions well hidden. She'd become better at it, but Dominique could read her better than anyone and she clearly saw the shock in her sister's face.

"I'm sorry," Dominique said quietly, looking at where her sister was kneeling on the floor in front of her, sponge in hand dripping unnoticed onto the floor, "I know how you—"

"To who?" Victoire interrupted calmly, rising back to her previous position as though she had suddenly got control of herself again, grabbing Dominique's chin again to finish cleaning the soot off. Dominique didn't wriggle this time.

"James' sister," she announced apologetically, brown eyes searching her sister's face for the reaction, "Lily. He told me himself."

"But she's a _child_," Victoire protested despite her better instincts, wiping off one last smudge from Dominique's jawline and rising to her feet again, wanting to hide her face until she could get control of it again, "She's—"

"She's a woman now," Dominique reminded her gently, leaning forward in her chair but not otherwise moving, for which Victoire was grateful, "She's fourteen, she's bled. You know usually they get married off even earlier than this, these ladies."

"She won't hold him," Victoire decided finally, dropping the sooty sponge into the basin and turning back to face her sister, confidence beginning to reappear, "She's a silly child. She doesn't know anything about him or… what he likes, or who he is. He'll keep coming to me. I _know _he will."

The pity in her sister's face cut very deeply.

"Vic," Dominique began gently, rising and approaching her sister cautiously, "You need to be careful. He's a _lord_. He can keep visiting you but you know that nothing can happen—"

"I could give him a child," Victoire cut in hastily, the idea appearing in her head just that minute. She clung to it ferociously, shaping it, strengthening it, "He's an honourable man, certainly he'd—"

"Refuse to acknowledge it," Dominique said, doing the interrupting this time, voice firmer now, suddenly the mature one, "He might send you a bit of money now and then, but to be honest there's no way you'll be able to prove that it's his – and, besides, what good will it do you to carry a lord's bastard?"

Victoire sorely wanted to strike her sister then, but refrained. The girl was telling the truth, she knew, and it frustrated Victoire that her silly younger sister was so often the one being sensible when it came to Theodore.

"I can't bear to be without him," Victoire whispered, giving her sister a desperate look, sinking to sit on her bed, "I can't do it, Dominique, I really can't."

"Shh," Dominique replied, crossing the room hastily to clamber onto the bed next to her sister, wrapping her arms around her and holding her tightly, "It'll be okay. Men come from all over the five kingdoms for you, you know that. James said the other day that he'd met a lord from the Northlands who had heard stories of the most beautiful maid ever to live who was right here in Camelot – and he was talking about you, Vic, James said he was. From the Northlands! Can you imagine?"

Victoire smiled slightly at that. Dominique was forever dreaming of travelling, of just taking a horse and her few belongings and going where the wind took her. North to beyond the old Roman wall, south to where the land ended forever. Anywhere.

"Have you saved up enough for a horse yet?" Victoire inquired with a smile, jolting her sister out of whatever daydreams she was clearly indulging in. Dominique made a face and shook her head sadly.

"James says he'll get me one for my birthday, but—"

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Victoire said firmly. She worried about her little sister's friendship with the Potter boy. He was a lord, far too high above her station, and it did Dominique no good to dream of impossible things. Victoire generally kept her counsel, however, for as far as she could see the friendship was honest and there was no hint of any deeper feelings on either side.

"He never breaks his word," Dominique was protesting when Victoire tuned back in to what she was saying, her brows drawn over her pretty brown eyes, "He's the most honourable person I know. If he says he'll do something then he will."

"Okay," Victoire replied soothingly, wrapping her arms around her little sister in return and smiling into her hair, "I believe you. But just, you be careful, okay? You can never be sure what these little lords really want."

"I'm not like you, Vic," Dominique said stiffly, removing her arms pointedly, and Victoire knew that an insult was coming and realised that she never should have touched upon the subject of this friendship at all, Dominique was too defensive about it, "I don't give men sex just because I can."

"It's a job," Victoire replied, dropping her own arms away, shifting apart on the bed, "It's an easy job. I have a nice place to live and people who take care of me."

"So do I," Dominique shot back, "I have people who love me and they don't love me for the way I look or what I can do for them, they love me for _me_."

Victoire gazed steadily at her sister, long enough to make her feel uncomfortable, but Dominique's stare wavered no more than her sister's did. They had both inherited their father's stubbornness and their mother's short temper, which made for pretty explosive fights.

"Grow up, Dominique," Victoire whispered eventually, the words needles sent shooting at her sister as hard as she could manage, "Forget whatever fairytale you think you're living. This is the real world, and it's _cruel_."

"I hate you," Dominique retaliated swiftly, almost leaping to her feet and crossing the room swiftly, heading straight for the door, "You have to be so cynical about _everything_."

"It's not my fault we're servants, Dom," Victoire said wearily, watching her sister sadly, "Don't keep blaming me for it."

Dominique made no reply but a rude hand gesture, and then she was vanishing in a whirl of roughspun skirts and blonde hair. With a sigh, Victoire collapsed backwards onto the bed, trying to fight the tears that arguing with her sister always brought unbidden.

She was given a bare four minutes to wallow before there was a soft tap at the door from Halla, the little girl who did the running around for the woman who ran the brothel.

"Yes, Hal?" Victoire called, sitting upright and hastily smearing away her tears, trying for a bright smile as the little girl popped her dark curly head around the door.

"Mama says you have a visitor," Halla announced shyly, not stepping any further into the room, "He's a lord, this one. Paying good. She says wear the red dress."

Victoire wearily inclined her head to communicate that she had understood, and without further ado got up to change.

* * *

><p><strong>LYSANDER<strong>

Lysander was the first to spot Lily Potter entering the room. He was hovering a few metres behind Sir Leon, the knight he squired for. He gave a low cough to indicate to his master that he needed to pay attention, and Leon broke off his conversation with the knight next to him to angle his head around and see what Lysander was trying to tell him. Wordlessly, Lysander inclined his head towards the doors where Lily was hovering, looking a bit nervous. Leon caught sight of her and hastily cut through the crowd to warn his friend Sir Theodore.

Sir Theodore cut off the joke he was in the middle of telling to those around him and stepped forward instantly, heading towards Lily. Someone apparently gave Lily a firm shove from behind to get her moving, because she stumbled slightly before shooting a death glare at whoever was behind her, and then tried to gather her dignity back together before moving up the room to greet her husband-to-be.

They came together just in front of where Lysander was standing. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Lily, just like always. His twin brother Lorcan was always telling him how pathetic it was that the minute Lady Lily walked into a room Lysander's eyes were following her around like a lost puppy. Lysander did not like being described as a lost puppy, but neither had he found the willpower to stop doing it.

"My lady," he heard Sir Theodore say, as he bowed low to his betrothed and kissed her hand, "You look beautiful."

_Charming git_, Lysander thought to himself moodily, resisting the urge to throw his hat – the nearest thing to hand – at Sir Theodore. Lily flushed slightly and curtseyed in return, eyes not meeting the older man's as she straightened up again.

"My lord," she murmured, and Lysander's mood grew darker when he saw the silly little smile on her face clearly caused by Sir Theodore's presence. _Sir Theodore_, _ugh_, he brooded morosely, _the one that all the girls love and all the boys want to be like_. The man was everything a knight should be – tall, strong, handsome. He wasn't as talented at the sword as some but he could joust better than almost anyone except Prince Arthur and he was the finest horseman in Camelot.

Lysander hated him so much it almost hurt.

Unable to bear another moment of watching the girl he loved with the man she was to marry, Lysander risked punishment, abandoned his post, and slipped out of the throne room in a haze of angry mumbling. He got about three corridors away before he heard pattering feet chasing after him, and his name being called by a familiar voice.

"Lysander!" the girl said, grabbing his arm and yanking him to a forceful halt. Lysander let himself be tugged around and found himself looking down at his friend Roxanne. She was breathless and flushed, chest heaving, and looking quite cross with him.

"What?" he inquired grumpily, pulling his sleeve out from her grasp, "Aren't you supposed to be with your _mistress_?"

"Ly," Roxanne said gently, laying her hand on his arm again, but not grasping this time, "It's not her fault, you know that. She can't choose who she marries. And, besides, she has no clue how you feel about her, I'm sure—"

"That if she did she'd just avoid me," Lysander interrupted firmly, gaze downturned, "I'm not stupid, Rox. I know nothing will ever happen between us. She's a _lady_, and I'm just a squire."

Roxanne didn't bother to try to reassure him. Lysander knew that she didn't believe in telling lies and everything Lysander had said was the truth. Lily Potter was a nice enough girl, but her station and reputation were of immense importance to her and she'd never do anything to tarnish them. Sighing, Roxanne withdrew her hand and then, as almost an afterthought, darted up onto tiptoes to press a kiss to Lysander's cheek.

"You'll find someone else," she promised, drawing back, giving him a quick smile, "Someone who'll see how great you are. I promise."

Lysander just rolled his eyes and scuffed one foot along the ground, not believing her for a second.

"Yeah," he said moodily, not meeting her gaze. Roxanne sighed again and then regretfully moved backwards a few paces.

"I'm sorry, Ly, I have to get back—"

"Yeah, yeah, go," Lysander replied, waving her off, "Lily might need an apple carried from her plate to her hand, you never know."

"Don't be bitter," Roxanne teased with a quick smile, gathering up her skirts with a giggle, "It doesn't suit you."

Lysander didn't know where her sudden good humour had come from, but meeting her dancing gaze he couldn't help a quick smile of his own, and at that Roxanne beamed even wider and then turned on her heel and dashed back to where her demanding mistress was sure to be waiting. Lysander watched her go, her dark frizzy curls bouncing around her shoulders, and with another small smile shook his head fondly and then turned to head out to the yard. He was sure Sir Leon would have _plenty _of jobs for him to do, and hopefully that would keep his mind off Lily Potter. Hopefully.


	22. glass bottles

**Title: **glass bottles

**Pairing: **Lily/Lysander

**Author: **Blue (BlueEyes444)

**For: **Tomato(NomNomTomato)

i.

_Now the muse was his happiness_

_And he rhymed about her grace_

_And told her stories of treasures_

_Deep beneath the blackened waves_

-The Poet and the Muse, Poets of the Fall

_Six years ago_

A cigarette dangles from red painted lips. The intoxicating smell of smoke is tattooed to the air. She is his drug. She is his life. She is his muse. She is his.

(_everything_)

She plays with a silky strand of carmine colored hair. She is the definition of beauty in his eyes. Long legs and creamy skin and eyes that shine brighter then any star; eyes that would put the city lights to shame. The sand is warm and so is the breeze and hands, promising forever, are intertwined underneath dancing moonlight with lipstick stains smeared across his white collar. Her touch is electrifying. And she's eighteen and he's seventeen.

(and they'll conquer the world together if they can.)

Her breath is hot and laced with smoke and he's whispering words into her ear, voice low, I love you (forever) is on the tip of his tongue.

But not on hers.

(At least, not yet.)

ii.

_But tell me now_

_where was my fault_

_in loving you with my whole heart_

-White Blank Page, Mumford and Sons

_Five years ago_

He wakes in bed with half his clothes on and holding a letter smeared with angry tearsand his breath reeking of alcohol. He lays there, and notes the trashed room and thinks that it's probably a good thing that he doesn't remember the night before.

His hand connects with a now empty glass bottle and his fingers curl automatically around it.

Sunlight trickles in through the window and a headache assaults his temples, a result of what he assumes was (another) hard night of drinking.

Ignoring the pounding in his temple, his eyes mechanically fall to the crumpled paper in his other hand. Her pretty scrawl leaps out at him

_Dear Lysander...I'm sorry...it's not you...it's me. I can't do this...I'm sorry for all of this...I know it's sudden...maybe one day... I'll come back...miss you...sorry, again...love always, Lily._

A bitter taste fills his mouth.

Screw her.

His hand crumples the paper. Anger (hurt, pain, confusion) races through his veins. He hates (loves) her.

He sits up, his head swarms, his grip around the bottle tightening and she should have been here in his arms.

It's been six months and he can still smell her scent on his sheets, still hear her laugh, still feel her bare skin against his and the anger is replaced by grief and guilt and the famous _what if _threatens to overwhelm him.

And then as suddenly as they had come, they're pushed away by anger and anger is something he can control and right now, control is the only thing he has.

In a blur of movement he throws the bottle against the wall.

It shatters.

(Just like his heart did so many years ago.)

Oh, how he hates her.

(the line between love and hate gets blurred.)

iii.

_I reach for you_

_I reach in vain_

_-_Tears from the Moon, Conjure One

_Four years ago_

Another night, another bar, another girl,(Grace, remember? Or was it Kaily?) another attempt to drink away the pain (and forget her.)

(And he doesn't really feel anything. Not anymore. And that should bother him, but it doesn't. Not really.)

Alcohol induced kisses and in the morning, he'll wake up to cigarette burns across his tainted flesh.

A stranger's hands in his hair and he finds himself reaching for her in vain and in the dead of night, neither of them acknowledges her name falling from his lips.

It's a haze of whiskey and kisses and.

(He can't get her out of his head.)

iv.

_And he said,_

"_There goes my life_

_There goes my future, my everything_

_Might as well kiss it all goodbye._

_There goes my life."_

-There Goes My Life, Kenny Chensey

_Four years and nine months ago_

He gets a letter that changes his life.

Hands shaking, stomach in knots, her familiar scrawl leaping out at him, he's reminded of the letter he got so long ago.

_Dear Lysander,_

_I didn't want to tell you, but you have the right to know. Do you remember when you found that pregnancy test and I said it was Molly's? I lied, Lysander. I lied. It was mine. When I left you, I was pregnant. I named him Loki. He has your eyes._

_I don't want you to find us, so please don't look. Maybe one day, but not now. Maybe I'm selfish, but we're happy, he's happy, and please, just leave us alone. I'm begging you. Please, just leave us alone. Don't look for us._

_I'm so sorry. For everything._

_-Lily_

And all he can think is,

_no, no, no, no, please, please, don't let this be happening, i can't, i have a son, i have a son-_

He wants to shout, scream, yell, beg, plead, _this can't be real_, but it is, oh, it is, and he's a father.

_He's. A. Father._

Tears stain the letter.

v.

_I need to feel your hand upon my face_

_Words can relay nice, they can cut you open_

_And the silence surrounds and haunts you._

-Bloodstream, Stateless

_Four years ago_

It's been nine months and there's sleepless nights and worry filled days, and he doesn't know what to do. The letter is never far from his reach, or his thoughts.

Loki, Loki, Loki.

There's a little boy out there.

And she told him, begged him, to stay away and Merlin it's not fair, not fair because he has the right, the right to meet his little boy, and she tells him to stay away?

_we're happy, he's happy, and please, just leave us alone._

The words echo in his head, haunt him, burn him and.

His breath smells once again like alcohol and the intoxicating smell of cigarette smoke is tattooed to his skin and a three day stumble lines his chin.

He doesn't know what to do and he's so confused, so hurt, so fucking numb.

His hand clenches the letter, reads it over again, the words imprinted in his mind, and suddenly.

He knows what to do.

vi.

_Should I give up?_

_Or should I keep chasing pavements?_

-Chasing Pavements, Adele

_Three years and eleven and half months ago_

He stares at a picture.

It is of a small boy. She's there as well. Both look happy.

His eyes take a moment to linger on her. A wide smile stretches her lips. He pretends, only for a second, she is smiling at him.

His eyes dart back to the boy.

_He has your eyes._

That he does, that he does.

"What are you going to do, brother?" It's Lorcan. His brother's wife, Lucy, also Lily's cousin, was the one who gave him the picture.

He doesn't bother to look up at his twin, completely mesmerized with the boy in the picture. "I don't know, Lor." He traces a finger across the grinning form of the child. "He looks like me, doesn't he?"

Lorcan chuckles dryly. "Looks like both of us, you mean. And yeah, he does." His brother is silent and all Lysander hears is the thudding of his own heart against his chest.

"Do you still love her?"

This draws his attention and he looks up into familiar gray eyes.

"Yes." The answer falls from his lips without any thought and it should surprise him, but it doesn't, not really, because if he allows himself to think about it, he would realize that he had never stopped loving her in the first place.

"As much as I hate her for hurting you, for being a coward and running, for trying to deny the right to know your kid, I think you should go fight for her if you love her. Stop chasing and go fight." Lysander's gaze falls to the picture and he takes in her and he takes in...their son, and he knows. He finally knows.

"I will."

vii.

_I knew I loved you before I met you_

_I think I dreamed you into life._

-I Knew I loved You, Savage Garden

_Three years and eleven months ago_

They live in a flat.

Somehow, he thinks, it suits her.

He is dressed in leather and black and he's clean-shaven and he wonders, hopes, prays, that she still likes that and his palms are sweaty and he's like a teenager on his first date but he's not, because he's been through this song and dance before, and his heart is beating hard against his chest and he's rocking on the balls of his fight, nervous, so very nervous.

"Easy, bro." His brother is there with him, standing awkwardly on his right, being his wing-man, here for support.

"Easy for you to say," he hisses out of clenched teeth, biting his lip so hard he can taste blood. Lovely. Just what he needs. A bleeding lip.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, staring at the thing that separates him from his past (his love, his child.) The door stares back at him, cold, uninviting, teasing him, taunting and it's all he can do to stop himself from screaming, from yelling, demanding it to stop.

He can't do it. He says so to his brother. He turns away.

"My God." His brother says this loudly, grabbing him by the arm, forcing him to look back at the door. "And to think you were in Gryffindor." Lorcan raises his fist, pounds rather loudly on the door and he winces, cringes, looks away after shooting a dark look at his brother. Can he still make a run for it or is it to late? He has a feeling it is.

The door suddenly swings up and he finds himself automatically looking up and there's Lily, all five foot, three inches and their eyes meet and his throat goes dry and he can't breathe, his words are lost and it's all too much for him.

His eyes take her in, and she's grown up, matured and he's reminded of all the time they've spent apart.

"Why, hello, Potter," Lorcan says cheerfully, and he knows his twin well enough to hear the scorn, breaking the spell and Lily suddenly scowls, eyes flashing and he steps an instant step back.

"What the hell are you doing here, Scamander?"

He's still a little speechless and can only stare blankly at her and well, to be honest, she's always done this to him.

"I came to see my nephew and offer support to my brother, Potter," Lorcan says smoothly. Lily grabs the door-frame with a hand. Anger sizzles in her eyes.

"You're not going to see him, Lorcan and I wasn't talking to you." Her gaze finds him and he is forced to look away in a desperate attempt to get his mind clear. "I told you not to come looking for us."

Suddenly, something inside of him snaps and he stares at her, voice controlled. "Then you shouldn't have told me about him. Did you honestly think I wouldn't want to see my own kid?" He raises a hand up when her mouth opens. He knows she wants to argue. "Call me when you want to have a mature, adult conversation about this. You know the number. I'll give you six months. Don't think I won't take this higher up." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "I love you, Lily Potter and I haven't ever stopped."

She stares at him, blinks, and surprise is in her eyes, and she freezes and their gazes lock and suddenly, the moment's over and she jerks back and slams the door behind her.

He hears the lock clicking. He has never hated a sound as much.

Sighing, he collapses against his brother.

Lorcan laughs humorlessly. "Well, that was fun, don't you think, little brother?"

viii.

_Can, can, can you imagine a time when the truth ran free?_

-Closer to the Edge, 30 Seconds to Mars

_Three years and five months ago_

He stares at the phone. His hand clenches around it. It's been silent for six months. Has she dared?

"I figured she wouldn't," Lorcan says easily from beside him, studying the floor with interest. He doesn't reply, can't, hoped she would call, knew deep down she probably wouldn't, and it hurts.

He rests his head on his brother's lap, comforted by the steady rise and fall as his brother takes in air. Lorcan runs his hand through his hair, something he did often in their childhood and carried it over to adulthood.

"Don't worry, baby bro. We'll figure it out," Lorcan continues, his fingers making soothing circles upon his scalp. It's relaxing.

And then his phone rings.

Heart skipping a beat, hands fumbling, he hits the speaker button, then the talk.

"Hello?" His voice is shaking. Just a little.

"It's Lily. " A pause. A heartbeat. "Can we meet up for a lunch in a hour? I have some things to tell you. I need to talk to you."

He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

He looks up. His brother gives him a a crooked grin.

ix.

_I'm tripping on words_

_You got my head spinning._

-You and Me, [Extended Wedding Version] Lifehouse

They meet in a mutual place. A cafe. Always the big brother, always the protector, Lorcan invites himself along. He doesn't complain. He needs his brother. He'll always need him.

She looks sharp in tight jeans, and a red shirt that shows maybe just a bit more cleavage then it should.

He sits across from her. His brother on his right. The waitress brings him a coffee. Black and just the way he likes it. He stares at Lily questioningly. She stares back, unwavering. He swallows.

"Why are we here?" It's Lorcan. Always direct.

Lily leans back, sighing. "It wasn't you, Lysander. It was me. We were moving so fast and I was...I was scared." She exhales. " Then I found out I was pregnant and..." She closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, she suddenly looks older, exhausted. "You didn't want kids. You were in school and. I don't know. I was scared and confused and so very young and I just ran. Ran and never looked back."

He stares at her, and tries to take it all in. She ran, left him without a word, for his own good? Seriously? "You left me for my own good?" He laughs humorlessly and it comes out as almost a choked sob. " You left me for my own good?" He is almost hysterical.

Lorcan puts a hand on his shoulder.

"You may have had your heart in the right place but honestly Potter?" Lorcan's voice shakes. A mixture of anger and pain for his brother. "He almost drank himself to death among other things. You ruined his life."

Lily looks down. "I'm sorry, Lysander." Her voice is quiet, meek.

"You apologizing isn't going to help anything now," he scoffs, standing up suddenly. Lorcan follows suit. "I need to think about this. I'll call you." He turns away.

Only Lorcan hears,

"I've never stopped loving you, Lysander."

x.

_Hey lady, don't give up on me_

_Don't burn your heart out of love._

-Hey Lady, Thriving Ivory

_Two years ago_

He groans.

"I don't know what to do," he confesses to the pillow which he is currently face down in. His heart aches still.

"Well, I know I'm not the pillow but I think you need to man up and talk to the bitch." It's his brother.

He chuckles tiredly, the sound muffled by the pillow. "You think I should, huh?"

He doesn't have to see Lorcan to know he's rolling his eyes. "No, I don't. I just told you that line to hear myself talk." He thumps him on the leg.

He groans again. "Why should I?"

His brother exhales rather loudly. "We've had this talk before. You want to see the kid. And besides, you need to let that b-er, witch, yeah, know she can't get to you."

He sighs.

"You know what?" Lorcan's tone brightens. "I'll call for you." He raises his eyebrows into the pillow. A bad feeling settles into into his stomach.

"What are you-?"

"Hey, bitch. It's me, Lorcan. Come to Ly's apartment in...say, thirty minutes. Cheers!" The beep of his phone turning off is what draws him out of the pillow.

"What the hell?"

Lorcan smiles grimly. "Best get ready, brother. Hurricane Bitch is coming."

She's there in fifteen. There is coldness tattooed to the air.

He takes one look into her exhausted eyes and all the hurt and pain and anger lesson. "I love you." The words fall out without any warning.

His brother snorts. Her eyes widen. Silence settles around them.

And then,

"I love you too."

the silence breaks.

xi.

_I wanna lay you down in a bed or rose._

-Bed of Roses, Bon Jovi

_Present day_

There's a ring on her finger, and love in her eyes, and most mornings, he wakes up and finds her passed out at the toilet, exhausted from retching and he'll carry her back to bed, whisper promises of forever in her ear and_it's going to be a girl, mrs. scamander, i'm sure._

Lorcan's taunts have become teases and his brother and wife have settled into a comfortable\friendship and he wakes up to _daddy _and a little boy with his eyes.

In the middle of the night, he still reaches for her.

(But this time, he finds her.)


	23. A Great Hope Fell

**title:** A Great Hope Fell  
><strong>pairing: <strong>Victoire/Teddy  
><strong>author: <strong>Madeline/chasingafterstarlight  
><strong>for: <strong>Madeline/all the lonely people  
><strong>warnings: <strong>very long, slightly non-linear, Sherlock references

* * *

><p>"Victoire."<p>

The blonde girl spun around at once, her hair billowing behind her. She tugged at the edges of her blue scarf as she stared at him. "Yes, Theodore?"

"I, erm..." Teddy found himself scratching the back of his head, feeling all the more awkward as he stared at her. Being a Gryffindor, he was not intimidated by many people, but Victoire Weasley was definitely one that he was intimidated by. It was something about her stance, always so confident, or perhaps it was the way that she–

"Your girlfriend broke up with you," she stated, as if it was obvious.

Furiously, Teddy glanced around. "How do you always do that?" he hissed under his breath.

"Easy," Victoire smiled now, folding her hands in front of her as she began. "First of all, you look a mess. You've got bags under your eyes and the fact that they're bloodshot indicates that you've been crying and probably not sleeping. Second, I know that she was important to you, so she probably is one you would've cried over. You've fixed up a bit more today, perhaps on the hunt for a new girl, but not enough to indicate that you're seriously looking. Your breath smells of cigarettes, but your ex-girlfriend – Michi Breee, was that her name– she'd never let you smoke. And last of all, you're talking to me."

"So?" Teddy asked. "We're friends. I can talk to you without the world ending."

"Acquaintances, Theodore," she replied after a moment, rolling her sharp blue eyes. "Merely acquaintances. And you don't normally talk to me unless you need something. In this case, you want advice on how to get her back."

"I hate how you do that," Teddy grumbled, feeling himself tense despite himself. "You always have to read people like a book. Can't even have a conversation like a normal person."

"I can, but I choose not to," Victoire responded after a beat. "Anyway, the answer is no. I am not helping you get the stupid Michi girl back."

A scowl took over Teddy's face at once, and he sighed, an aura of desperation falling over him. "But Victoire! You always go on about how clever you are. Here's your chance to prove it by helping me out!"

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "I am clever, Theodore, and you know it. However, it would be a precious waste of my time to help a bumbling fourth year regain his past girlfriend. I have no time nor have I got patience for people like you."

"People like me?" he repeated, slightly offended. "What do you mean by that?"

"Why, the mentally inferior, of course," she said. Spinning on her heel, she began to walk off. "Have a nice day, Theodore," she called over her shoulder as she left.

He'd always wondered why she called him Theodore, but he never thought to question it.

–

Victoire Weasley was somewhat of an abnormality.

They'd met for the first time at a young age (perhaps they were seven and eight, perhaps they were younger). Their mothers (well, Teddy's grandmother) had decided that due to the small gap in their ages, they were to become best friends, but that didn't work out too well. Even from a young age, Victoire was more perceptive than the rest.

She could sense any change in the emotions, any difference in the appearance. Nothing he did was above her radar. She would waltz in as if she owned the place and plop down just beside Teddy, a smile on her face as if nothing was wrong. Then the analysis would begin.

"You look upset today," she would chime innocently, as if she was the perfect young child instead of a psychopath genius. "What's on your mind, Theodore?"

Then she would go on to describe, in impeccable detail, everything in his thoughts. She would tell how the downward curve of his mouth indicated that something was upsetting him, yet the slight curve told her that it wasn't anything too bad. She'd tell him that he wasn't very sad, because he hadn't been crying, but his hair was mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it. There were slight, nearly unnoticeable bruises on the backs of his hands, which told her he had been punching something.

"You're lonely," she would proclaim at last, her eyes bright with the euphoria she got whenever she had solved yet another case. "You want friends."

"I have friends," he had scoffed, glaring at her. "It's not my fault that you haven't got any."

Then he would storm out, much to the chagrin of his grandmother. The thing about Victoire was that, despite her flaws, she was a pretty tough girl. She wouldn't cry at Teddy's insults. Instead, she would just laugh, a maniac laugh that nearly drove him insane, and sit back down with one of her millions of notebooks, scribbling away. Scowling, he would try to peek into her book, and she would shove him off. (She wasn't very strong, really, but that was about when one of the guardians would interfere and attempt to keep the peace. It never worked.)

It went on like that for a while. They grew up together, but somehow they were never really close. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Teddy knew that Victoire Weasley wasn't really close to anyone. She just wasn't the type.

She was the type to gain pleasure from sitting in the depths of a musky library, surrounded by knowledge. He would picture her in the library at times, imagining her head buried in books, a rare smile lighting up her admittedly nice-looking face. Some of the time, it bothered him. Some of the time, he was jealous.

Most of the time, he pretended that he wasn't bothered.

–

It was during her fourth year, Teddy's fifth year, that one of Teddy's dorm mates disappeared. The professors attempted to write it off as nothing, but Teddy wasn't quite as stupid as he appeared. The worry that filled the Hall sometimes was thick enough to cut with a knife.

As he walked down the corridors, he would sometimes inadvertently listen in on the teacher's conversations. They were almost always whispering about Benedict, about the best way to get him back, about what could have possibly happened. For whatever reason, the first thought in his head was that Victoire would know.

So he made his way through the corridors, pushing by burly guys and terrifying girls alike, until he reached the library. As always, Victoire was seated alone at a table in the middle of the room. He liked to think of it as _her_table. No one else ever sat there.

Her head emerged from the midst of the books, and she cocked an eyebrow at him, which was her way of asking why he had come. He sat down across from her despite his fear and sighed.

"Why are you here?" She spoke at last, her eyes turning into small slits as she stared at him. "No one sits there."

"Well, now I do," he laughed. "Listen, it's about Benedict."

Glancing back down at her books, she asked sharply, "Who is Benedict?"

Teddy laughed, shocked. When she still did not refute her statement, he blinked. "Benedict, my dorm mate."

"What about him?" she asked casually, flipping a page in her book. With a simple glance downward, he realised that she was reading about the five states of matter, some sort of Muggle science. Typical.

"He's gone," he said, frustrated. "Victoire, for someone so clever, you can be so _thick_ sometimes. Honestly, you must have noticed."

"Can't say I did," she replied absently, shutting her book at last. Her eyes travelled up to his face, as if to signify that he had her full attention for once. "When you say 'gone', do you mean dead? I feel as though the teachers might have made a bigger deal about a dead student, Theodore."

"No, he's not _dead_," Teddy spit out, his face heating up despite himself. It was scary how easily Victoire Weasley could get under someone's skin. "He disappeared not too long ago without a trace and the teachers are baffled."

"Well, of course they are," she informed him. "They're all bumbling idiots. They can hardly get the first years to class, much less find a missing student."

"I was hoping that you would help to find him," Teddy told her tentatively. "After all, you're more intelligent than all of the teachers combined."

She paused. "Yes. I know."

"Is that a yes, then?" he prodded.

"Obviously. This is right up my alley, Theodore. I'll meet you back here tomorrow night and we can get started."

"Hang on," he interrupted, eyes wide. Her last statement sent a shiver up his spine. What had she meant, we? He had never agreed to anything, much less getting dragged nto something as potentially life-threatening as this case threatened to be. Yet, he was a Gryffindor, and what good was bravery if he did not use it? He finished nonetheless with a confused, "What do you mean, we?"

"Well, you and I, obviously," she told him, stacking up her books. "If I'm going to investigate, I'm going to need an assistant."

Then she was off, leaving him with no coherent thoughts other than_ what have I just gotten myself into?_

–

When they were younger, he used to consider Victoire to be attractive– very much so, as a matter of fact. Most people did, what with her creamy skin, blonde hair, and striking blue eyes. Of course, all of that was ruined the moment she opened her mouth.

"Theodore," she declared at Molly's third birthday party. "Theodore, this party bores me."

"What do you expect me to do about it?" Being a full year older than her, ten-year-old Teddy had decided that girls weren't really his thing, particularly younger girls that could tell everything about him just from a glimpse at his clothing.

"Well, you could–" She cut off abruptly. Turning, Teddy noticed that her eyes were (finally) fixed upon the group of boys behind him, as if she was just noticing them for the first time. Her eyes lit up in that way Teddy knew meant that she was all fired up and prepared for analysis.

"Victoire, no," he protested, but it was too late.

Turning to the first of his friends, a tall, stocky boy named Martin, Victoire began her careful analysis. "Cropped hair. Your parents made you cut it, but you only wanted a bit off. They, however, took the liberty of cutting off as much as they could, hence the uneven cuts. You were trying to shove them off as they cut. You've got a bit of a tear in the knee of your trousers, probably because you were hopping the fence on the way over. Your sneakers are scuffed from where you propelled yourself over. You stayed over at his house last night–" She pointed at Teddy's other friend Michael, "and you borrowed his deodorant."

Martin tensed up at once. Despite his skinny boy physique, Teddy had a feeling that Martin could pack quite a punch, and he hoped that Victoire wouldn't be the one to prove his theory correct. To his relief, Martin simply demanded, "How?"

"Was I right?" Victoire demanded, her eyes bright and somehow so far away.

"Tell me how," Martin hissed under his breath, his bronze eyes unusually dark.

Persistent as ever, Victoire replied simply, "Was I _right_?"

"Yes," he admitted at last, crossing his arms. "Now you must tell me _how_."

"I told you already, it's the simple art of observing and deducting. Nothing too complex," she said absentmindedly, her eyes travelling to Michael. "Your parents have been fighting, haven't they? I wouldn't bring it up, but you've already told these two 'geniuses'."

Michael's jaw dropped. "How could _you_ know that?"

"I won't give away any more of my secrets," Victoire informed him, smiling wickedly. Turning on her heel, she spun off.

"Why are you friends with that weirdo, Teddy?" Martin whispered, his voice full of disgust.

"I'm not," he responded after a moment, but he knew the moment he said it that it was a lie.

–

The day after his meeting with Victoire in the library, he was called out of class. Of course, since he was a fifth year boy, this was a cause for rejoice. Potions, the class he had been called out of, was the most boring of all, and he didn't even care to know the reason why he had been called out as long as he was missing Potions. Of course, they made a point to tell him anyway.

"Teddy Lupin," some wrinkled old lady said, staring at him accusingly. "Victoire Weasley claims that you will be assisting her as she investigates the case of your dorm mate Benedict."

"Victoire claimed correctly," Teddy told her, a smug grin taking over his face. "Have you got a problem?"

"Problem! Why, yes I do!" She exclaimed. "You haven't paid a lick of attention during any of my classes for the past five years. How are you meant to help out intelligent little Victoire Weasley if you can't even manage one Transfiguration class without falling asleep?"

"Trust Vicky's instincts, I suppose?" He grinned wickedly.

"Don't call me Vicky," someone piped up from over in the corner. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see Victoire sitting there, her fragile frame being swallowed up by the large, plush chair. Upon seeing Teddy staring at her, she added, "You haven't got a legitimate reason to be staring at me, Theodore. There is nothing in my teeth or on my face. So kindly sit down before I change my mind about you helping me."

"What's in it for me?" he complained crossly, plopping down into yet another of the large, plush chairs.

"Why, the thrill of the case, of course!" the Transfiguration professor exclaimed. "And of course, the time out of class, not to mention the hero status you would attain around school."

"Hang on a second," Teddy interrupted, grinning again. "Did you say _hero_?"

"Yes," the professor replied, perplexed. "Yes, I did."

"I'm in," Teddy told her abruptly. Then, without warning, he stood up. "So, when do we start?"

–

On Victoire's first day at Hogwarts, she looked just as nervous as all of the other first years. It was a weird thing for him to think about, really; he had never even considered the possibility that _Victoire Weasley_ could have feelings akin to those of other children her age. Yet she stood there shaking in line for the Sorting Hat, even though he had no qualms about which house she would be put into.

When her name was called, she stepped up to the stool, her face a clear mix of worry and excitement. She placed the Hat upon her sleek, straight blonde hair and smiled in anticipation.

The Hat took a bit more time with her than it had with the others; from the look on her face, it was as if they were involved in a deep, meaningful conversation. Then at last, the Hat bellowed, "RAVENCLAW!" and she beamed.

At first, she was the prize of Ravenclaw. She was a smart girl; that much was obvious to anyone who came into contact with her. However, after a while, most of Ravenclaw got annoyed with her, and Teddy knew exactly why. Despite her intelligence, Victoire was still one of the most unbearably annoying and arrogant females in the school.

Her favourite term to use to describe others in the school was 'idiots', though she was partial to 'stupid' and 'imbeciles'. She looked down on everyone, including people in her house, and eventually people started to declare her 'intolerable' and 'just plain annoying'. She, however, just took it like it was the best compliment in the world.

He had a feeling that, somewhere deep down inside, Victoire Weasley had a strong sense of house pride. While she broke quite a few of the school rules, she still wore her Ravenclaw tie every single day with a big smile on her face.

Her name and her house earned her a lot of attention at first. People would come up to her often, saying some variant of 'aren't all Weasleys in Gryffindor'? She'd just glare at them and then inform them, in no uncertain terms, that she was far from the typical Weasley and if they ever implied that all Weasleys conformed to some horrible 'stereotype' again, then she would be sure to get her revenge. The scariest part that she would never say what her revenge was; she would just walk off and leave it at that.

He admired her in a strange sort of way, but only from a distance. Her disdain for him was obvious; he saw it in her eyes every time that she looked at him. She thought that he was an idiot, much like everyone else, and maybe he was, but he was also so much more. At least, _he_ thought so.

–

"This is your dorm?" Victoire hissed, her disgust written all over her face. "Honestly, I thought my dorm was bad! All the girls complain because I tend to conduct experiments every half-hour. This, though... this is beyond horrible!"

"Yeah, well, you can't expect us to be perfectly neat," Teddy griped, standing protectively at the base of his bed. "Now, what exactly are you looking for?"

"Anything and everything," she replied with a smirk. However, instead of bending down and digging through the mess, she simply stood up and surveyed the room. Her unblinking eyes travelled over their belongings, stopped on the mess of clothing that surrounded Benny's bed. She hesitated before walking over, her eyes flashing as though she had found something. Then, she backed off suddenly and clutched at Teddy's hand. "We've got to get out of here."

"Have you found something?" he inquired, surprised. Though he knew of how brilliant she was, he still found it amazing that she could find what she needed to in just a matter of seconds.

"You could say that," Victoire answered slowly. "Prior to his disappearance, he'd been mixed up in some pretty dark magic, particularly dark for a Gryffindor, of all people."

"How do you know?" Teddy demanded at once. After all, Benedict had been a dorm mate of his, and the things that Victoire was accusing him of were very serious. He had to have solid proof first.

"Well, first of all, he's always seemed very secretive, but obviously I'm not accusing him just based on that. Second of all, he has some very toxic, dark magic-associated chemicals coating some of the things in your dorm. Third, he has a stash of letters stacked under his bed, where he had hoped no one would see them. And last of all, the book of restricted dark spells is by his bed. Is that enough, or do you need more proof?" She raised an eyebrow, challenging him to say anything back. He didn't speak a word. Instead, he just stood there and gaped at her for a moment, trying to get his scattered thoughts back together.

"That traitor!" Teddy exclaimed at last, a shot of adrenaline running through his veins. "He'd been doing dark magic all that time! We were _friends_! I was friends with a dark wizard!"

"Wasn't like you could've figured it out," Victoire snorted. "You're too dense. Anyway, let's go; we've got quite a bit of explaining to do to those bumbling people that we call 'school authorities'."

"But wait," Teddy said, catching Victoire's wrist. She stopped, cocking her head at him to ask what the _heck_ he was thinking, and some strands of her soft blonde hair fell into her face. Resisting the urge to push them back, Teddy continued, "So he disappeared because he was into dark magic?"

"No, of course not," she sighed impatiently. "It must be so boring inside your brain, Theodore! Honestly. Anyway, he disappeared because he didn't do something that they wanted him to do. They warned him; that much is obvious by the graffiti painting by Benedict's bed. He didn't listen, though. He panicked, hence the frantic notes – all balled up in the rubbish bin now, of course. Time passed, and he still did not fulfill their commands, so they took him."

"Imagine he'll ever come back?" Teddy asked, biting his lip.

She looked up at him, and for the first time, Teddy thought he saw a hint of emotion in her blue eyes. With a grin, she informed him, "I'll ensure that he is returned safely."

"Somehow that doesn't sound too convincing to me," Teddy says, but he laughs and grins at her as if to show his gratitude, and she smiles back. He decides that he likes her smile; despite her hard exterior, her smile is genuine.

–

Back in first year, she fell into the lake.

A group of boys were crowded around the icy pond, and she was in the centre of them, her blonde hair whipping around her face.

"From what I can deduce," she said confidently, "the ice will not break if someone stands on it. So yes, I do believe it is safe for you and your little rambunctious pals to go skating today. Do have fun!" She began to march off then, a cocky smirk on her pale face.

Of course, one of the boys took that opportunity to seize her shoulder and spin her around. She gave him an angry glare, but he spoke softly. "If you're sure it won't break, then, go and stand on it." His smile was evil, his eyes dark, and Teddy didn't really like the look of the situation. But before he could step in to intervene, Victoire was prancing onto the ice.

She stood in the middle, throwing out her arms. "See, I told you so!" Stomping a foot, she smirked at them. "I am always right."

"Oh, aren't you?" one of the boys whispered from beside Teddy. Teddy knew what was coming and he tried to stop him, but of course the boy just _had_to get his revenge, and before Teddy knew it Victoire was splashing into the freezing cold lake.

Despite his hero complex, he didn't bother helping her. He just watched, eyes wide with pity and surprise, as she clambered out of the freezing lake, looking a bit like a drowned rat. It would be too much of a risk for him to save her, he decided; he didn't want his friends thinking that he was friends with the strange girl. Her eyes watered as everyone around them laughed, acting just like the stereotypical, immature young children everyone thought them to be.

"Using magic to melt the ice doesn't count," she whispered as she fled, still dripping wet. The laughter died down after a bit.

Teddy pinpointed that as the point where Victoire began to be all the more condescending toward her fellow students, going so far as to talk constantly about how inferior they were to her. She had a good reason, at least. He felt guilty about it for ages.

–

"You're saying that a young Gryffindor boy has been in contact with some dark wizards?" the Headmaster asked skeptically, her eyes crinkling. "And they took him because he wouldn't do what they asked him to?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Victoire nodded. "Look, I know that you're all under the impression that all Gryffindors are perfect little angels, but I need you to get rid of that false piece of information right now. Delete it."

"Victoire, not everyone can delete things –" Teddy began, but of course he was cut off by the Headmaster once again.

"Who do you suspect this dark wizard was?" she inquired.

"Honestly, I am not sure," Victoire responded after a moment, blinking rapidly, as if the blinks coincided with her train of thought. "I have quite a few ideas, though. Eight, actually."

"Eight?" The Headmaster, apparently not accustomed to Victoire's expansive brain, looked as if Victoire had just told her that she was secretly a maid with twenty children and five husbands. "Eight ideas _already_?"

"Yes," was Victoire's eloquent response. "Of course, this will require a bit of investigation, so my partner Theodore and I will investigate tomorrow. It is Saturday, after all; we have the day off of school, which makes it the_perfect_ time –"

"Children are normally not allowed off school grounds on Saturdays, Miss Weasley," the Headmaster reminded Victoire cautiously, blinking just once to show her imminent surprise.

"Yes, but Theodore and I are hardly normal children, are we?" she smirked, standing up, and Teddy didn't even attempt to control his surprise. Was she seriously suggesting that he was abnormal? He'd always assumed that she lumped him in with the rest of the dull students, but here she was, proclaiming to the world that she considered him to be _special_. It was a bit of a shock, really. Disregarding his surprise, Victoire barreled on. "Face it, you _need _me."

"Yes," the Headmaster spoke at last, clearing her throat. "Yes, I regret to say we do."

"Very well," Victoire said, seeming satisfied. "You will let us out tomorrow, and we will head off to Hogsmeade for investigation. It would be nice to have someone who could Apparate, though, obviously not all of my suspects live in Hogsmeade."

"We'll send someone with you for the day," Headmaster McGonagall relented. Her face seemed to convey her defeat; obviously, she had never had to deal with an overly intelligent (albeit thoroughly irritating) fourth year before.

"Cheers," Victoire spoke at last, her face splitting into a smile. As she stormed off, Teddy followed her, shooting the Headmaster an apologetic glance to make up for Victoire's inherent rudeness.

–

"I can't believe I'm doing this," complained Teddy as he glanced around the small wizarding town. "Honestly, Victoire, what good is this doing?"

"Plenty of good," Victoire mumbled absentmindedly. "In fact, I've already eliminated one of my suspects on the basis that he is too thickheaded to have pulled this off without being caught. That leaves only seven more."

"Seven more..." Teddy trailed off, glancing around. "So, where are we headed then?"

"London," Victoire replied, pushing back a strand of her silky blonde hair. He tried not to watch her, tried to push back the warm, fuzzy sensation he got just from looking at her, but it was becoming harder and harder to resist. Victoire was a pretty female and he was a guy, still succumbing to his hormones.

He shook off the bad thoughts at once and turned his attention back to Victoire and their 'transport', just as Victoire grabbed his arm and they vanished, apparating to the next location. Once they landed once again, he fell to the ground, trying to keep his breathing steady.

"What was that?" he demanded as he slowly got to his feet. "You could've given me some warning!"

"We're about to Apparate, Theodore," Victoire told him in a bored tone, her eyes twinkling. "Is that what you wanted?"

"Would've been nice to have warning beforehand, thanks," Teddy grumbled, but he followed her as she stormed off nonetheless.

At last they came to a house. It was small, smaller than most houses Teddy had seen, but it had a certain charm about it. Of course, Victoire wasn't there to appreciate the beauty of the small house. She crept to the window and began to peer in.

"Victoire!" Teddy exclaimed, feeling more than a little bit uncomfortable. "Isn't that... well, a bit creepy? Something a stalker would do?"

"No, it's something a detective on an important case would do," she retorted, pushing the curtains out of the way. "Honestly, Theodore, keep up." She continued to peer for a minute, obviously taking in everything inside, and then she shook her head. "Not them. No time to explain. Next person, please."

They went on like that for hours, creeping on all of the people that Victoire suspected could possibly be involved, but Victoire didn't seem to think any of them were actually the guilty culprit. That was, until they came to the last person.

"Yes," she declared, her face lighting up, "yes, this is him. Come on, Theodore, we're going inside."

"This is more than a little illegal," Teddy reminded her, but he couldn't even shove her off due to her vice-like grip on his arm, so he had to follow her into the cellar of some random man's house.

Down there, it was cold, wet, damp, and dark, not exactly Teddy's cup of tea. He swore as he hit his foot against some random chunk of metal, and then swore again when Victoire's foot collided with his leg, causing her to whisper something along the lines of 'can't you take a hint?'. He had no idea what they were looking for; all he knew was that he had to follow her as if his life depended on it or else risk getting lost – _or worse_.

Of course, after about five minutes the lights switched on, revealing a tall, burly man with an angry face. "Why are you here?" he bellowed.

"Ah, Mr. Carrow," Victoire stated confidently. "Really, it has been a while. I had no idea that you had stooped down to the level of taking young boys from schools when they did not bend to your will! That's a new low, even for you."

The Carrow man cackled loudly, shaking his head. "Prove it."

"Easy," Victoire retorted, and he watched her with pure admiration clouding his eyes. "There are scratches on the wall in the left corner, indicating that someone was here and tried to get out. They're deep, but not too deep, indicating that the person was strong, but not incredibly so. The Gryffindor tie in the corner finishes off my theory. You haven't got a son, much less a son in _Gryffindor_, so you had to have kidnapped him."

"You're good, Victoire Weasley," the Carrow man replied, his dark eyes bright with something that sent a chill down Teddy's spine, a chill of _fear_. "The problem is that you aren't good enough."

Then the lights dimmed and Teddy was plunged into a world of darkness, screaming, and terror.

–

When they were children, Victoire asked him for advice on something.

"Theodore," she said, clambering over so that she was seated beside him. "Theodore, you had a girlfriend, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, visions of his ex-girlfriend (Orion Hendricks, aged six) floating through his mind. "But then she ate my candy so we broke."

"Broke up, I'm assuming?" she said haughtily, her vocabulary far too advanced for a six-year-old. "What was it like?"

"It was okay," Teddy shrugged, not really thinking much of it. "We kissed one time, but her lips were kinda gross. I think she ate a mud pie."

"Are your lips muddy?" she asked curiously, smirking at him.

"No!" he exclaimed indignantly, crossing his arms across his chest. Even when they were children, she always knew just how to get under his skin.

"You know, I don't believe anything unless someone proves it to me," she informed him, standing up straighter so that she was nearly as tall as he was. "So prove it."

So he did. He leaned forward, tentatively pressing his lips to hers. Admittedly, it was a far better kiss than the one he had shared with Orion, but they were young and had no way of knowing how to kiss, so they ended up toppling over into the mud.

"You're rather bad at this," she declared, before stomping off to go find her pile of books. He just laughed and walked off to go find some of his friends.

It was the first time he'd ever considered that he might be attracted to Victoire Weasley, but he pushed it away. After all, she was just an insufferable brat, right? She was definitely of no importance to Teddy Lupin.

–

When he awoke at last, all of the memories of what had happened before came rushing back into his head. Pain filled him. Was he dead? Was he still at the man's house? He struggled to sit up, but the rush of blood to his head hit him so painfully that he fell back down.

Then there was a wrinkled hand on his forehead, pushing him down into his pillow. "No, no, mustn't do that, Teddy," the person told him in an absentminded tone. "Not unless you want to stay in the Hospital Wing."

Disregarding her words, he pushed his head back up a bit and glanced around. "Is that where I am, then? The Hospital Wing? How did I get here?"

"Your little friend Victoire secretly called in a team from the school for backup," the Healer told him, pressing a cold cloth to his forehead. "You blacked out. You're lucky, Teddy Lupin."

"Am I?" he groaned. "Tell Victoire that I'm never helping her out on one of her 'cases' again."

"Aren't you?" He glanced up to see the girl in all of her glory, a smile stretching across her face. "Honestly, Lupin, I thought you enjoyed it. The adrenaline rush, the thrill of the danger, not to mention your little pal Benedict is back at school (on probation, of course) and you're a bit of a hero – you've got plenty of motivation to stick with me."

"Basically, you're asking me to be your permanent assistant?" he asked, blinking once. "I don't know..."

"Just say yes," she hissed, crossing her arms indignantly across her chest. "Really, you need to become more decisive, Theodore. Everyone knows that you want to be a hero, and what better way to become one than by being my assistant? Though, of course, heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

"Yes," he interrupted before she could continue rambling on. "Yes, I'll be your permanent assistant. However, that does _not_ mean that I am your guinea pig or that you have any sort of _right _to me – "

"Oh, do calm down, Lupin," Victoire laughed. "I'm better than all that. Anyway, you probably need your rest," she reminded him, most likely seeing the angry glare on his Healer's face. "See you tomorrow... or whenever we get a case."

He originally thought that he was going to regret his decision, but truthfully, he never did.

–

The first time that he'd ever thought of Victoire Weasley as 'intelligent' was a few years before their first year at Hogwarts. He couldn't pinpoint the exact time, but Victoire's parents were trying to teach them sums and of course, Victoire was the first to catch on. She always was.

"Theodore, 6 + 3 is nine, not seven," she scolded him. "Honestly, keep up."

"Honestly, keep up," he repeated bitterly under his breath. It was a bit annoying to the boy that a girl a year younger than him was so much smarter than he was. He glared at her, but she still did not even seem to so much as notice his animosity, much to his growing despair.

She seemed to stare at him then, take in his expression, before stating the obvious. "You are angry with me."

"Yes, because you are annoying," he retorted, his voice full of anger and satire. "Leave me alone."

"Look, Theodore," she said sharply, holding up six chubby fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Six," he replied, counting in his brain. His face lit up once he was done. Maybe he wasn't so hopeless, after all.

"Yes," she nodded in affirmation, then continued, "You are adding three, so you put up three more fingers." Three more of her chubby fingers went up. "Now how many fingers are there, Theodore?"

He counted mentally, the sound of the numbers in his head creating a rhythm. Once he was done at last, he exclaimed, "Nine!" Perhaps he really could get the hang of this. Was this how Victoire had been doing it?

"That's my intelligent little girl," Fleur Weasley said affectionately, ruffling the hair of her oldest child.

"Intelligent?" Teddy repeated, completely baffled. He had never heard anyone use the word before.

"Smart," Victoire explained, beaming from ear to ear. And as he looked at the young girl, all he could do was nod in affirmation. Yes, if there was ever a word to describe the eccentric young girl, it was most certainly intelligent. She was smarter than most people that Teddy knew, even if she annoyed him a _lot_.

Oh well, nobody was perfect. His grandmother had certainly told him that enough times.

–

After 'The Mystery of the Missing Benedict' (Teddy liked to call it that; Victoire, on the other hand, demanded to know why he came up with such ridiculous titles), they became the crime-fighting team of the school. No one could compete with Victoire's massive intellect, and no one could compete with Teddy's general heroicness, as he liked to call it. Together, they were a fairly flawless team.

For a year, there was peace. They were only called in to solve the most petty of crimes. Often times Mycrofta Corner would misplace things or one of the Zabini boys would beat up an unsuspecting Gryffindor, and they were called in to deduce where Mycrofta had put her textbooks or whether it was Zaniah or Xane Zabini that socked Matthew Creevey in his jaw. It was nothing too stressful, though, and whilst Teddy appreciated it at times, he also craved the danger. Not that he would ever admit it.

Of course, in Teddy's sixth year, things got exciting again when a seventh year got caught with a bottle of pills. There was still a single pill in the bottle, but if there were any others nearby, they were nowhere to be found. The student was shaking, but it became obvious within moments that she had not taken any of the pills.

They called Victoire in to size up the situation.

She stared at the girl, taking in her incessant shaking, scruffy appearance, and mousy brown hair, before she began to speak. "Anna Abercrombie, seventh year. Generally a happy girl, friendly with everyone, but not popular, so to speak. Always felt a bit inferior but never to the point that she would even think about... this."

"I didn't think about it," Anna said, trembling. "I wouldn't!"

"What happened?" Teddy asked as gently as possible, not trusting Victoire to be gentle (after all, her quick wit was more of a liability than an asset at times).

"I can't tell," Anna hissed, her eyes darkening. "I mustn't." Then she fled from the room.

After Anna was gone, Victoire turned to the clump of teachers and school officials, a frown on her face. "It wasn't a suicide attempt," she told them at last. "Somebody forced her into taking the pill, but we found her before she could, thankfully. We'd best be careful, though. Somebody is out there and they want us dead."

Teddy shuddered despite himself.

–

_The Pill_ was what it came to be known. Everyone lived in constant fear of it. Of course, two more random students – one a fifth year, one a third year – turned up in hallways. The third year had taken _The Pill_ and was sprawled in the hallway. Unfortunately, they were not able to revive him.

The funeral was held just days afterward, and of course, Victoire could not sit still and mourn like the other normal kids. She jerked Teddy to his feet and began poking around.

"They said they found him in the corridor, right?" she mumbled absently, staring at the ground. "That must have meant that he had set out at night. Had he?"

"Ask his dormmates," Teddy shrugged. "I don't know him, so I have absolutely no clue."

"You ask him," she retorted. "Most Ravenclaws aren't huge fans of me. Besides, if you're going to be my assistant for this case, you need to do _something_. I'll investigate while you do that."

"Investigate," he grumbled under his breath, but he approached a group of crying Ravenclaw third years nonetheless. Trying to appear casual, he ended up blurting out, "So, um, how are you doing?"

One of the boys turned around and raised an eyebrow, as if to ask what drug he was on. "Wonderful, obviously." His sarcasm was biting.

"No, sorry, I just..." he ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed. Victoire was going to get an _earful_ for this one.

"You're friends with the freak, aren't you?" the ringleader of the three hissed. "That Victoire chick? Thinks she's so much better than anyone else and _she_ alone can solve the mystery?"

"It's true," he protested. "If you want to find out who killed your friend, you're going to have to answer a few questions for me."

The two boys who had spoken before looked murderous, but the third, who was obviously the most reasonable, spoke up. "Guys, chill. We want justice, right? And this guy is offering it. I say we hear him out."

"Did your roommate – did he leave the room while you were asleep?" Teddy questioned, feeling awkward.

"Yes, he tends to do that a lot," one boy informed him. "He'd always been one for occasional solitude."

"Was he alone?" Teddy continued.

"Yes, of course," another threw in. "We wouldn't have let him walk out of the dorm with some murderer! We're Ravenclaws; we're hardly that stupid."

Teddy nodded, discovering that he could think of nothing else to say. "Have you got anything else to include?" he said at last.

"Nope," the first boy told him, popping the 'p', and so Teddy returned to find Victoire.

It took a while, but she was up at the front, examining the dead body like any other normal person would do. "He took the pill," she told him at last. "Why was he so quick to take it, unlike the others?" Turning around, she crossed her arms. "Find anything?"

"Yeah, actually, they said he left the room that night, but they said he does it a lot," Teddy shrugged.

"Same with the other two." Victoire's eyes lit up, and she began to pace around. "Theodore, I think I've got it! So he left the room, right? The other two left the room, each on different nights. They all do it regularly, so they've established a routine. Who would know their routines? Who can ghost about the school after hours, completely unnoticed?"

"Haven't a clue," Teddy admitted after a moment.

"Me neither," Victoire said at last, shrugging. "But at least we're getting somewhere."

–

That night, at about 3 AM, someone burst into their dormitory. Afraid it was the Mysterious Pill Man, Teddy shot up, but he relaxed once he realised that it was just Victoire.

"I have an idea, Theodore," she told him, ignoring the groans from his dorm mates. "Come with me."

Of course he did follow her; at that point, he would've done anything in the world that she asked him to do. This time, it seemed, the thing she wanted him to do was simply walk around the school and come back to report to her who he had seen.

Somehow, he doubted it would be as simple as she made it seem.

But he released her hand nonetheless, slipping off down the dark corridors. The shadows were rather incriminating, he decided, but he kept walking nonetheless. Then the sound of footsteps began to echo behind him.

Taking a big breath, he leaned back against the wall. All he could do was hope that the person wouldn't see him, but of course, hope always failed him. Someone seized his wrist and whispered gruffly, "Come with me."

He followed, whimpering slightly – Victoire would come after him, wouldn't she? She had to, otherwise, this could be his end. His heart hammered in his chest – _thump thump thump_ – and he wondered if kicking would do him any good, but by the looks of this person, he doubted it. Teddy was strong, sure, but he wasn't the strongest by any means.

Then he was being thrust into a dark closet. The lights flickered on, and he was face-to-face with... the _janitor_?

"Oh, thank Merlin it's you," Teddy exhaled, relieved. "I thought that it was the murderer, honestly, and then I would have absolutely _murdered_ Victoire, if I wasn't dead, that is –"

"  
>"She sent you?" the janitor growled (Teddy had never bothered learning his name). "The Weasley girl sent you? Oh, that's good; that's very good. I can use you to get to her."<p>

"Wait." Teddy took a deep breath and everything suddenly fell into place. They'd recently gotten a new janitor after the death of Filch, and no one had really thought much of him. He was sort of invisible, just like Victoire had said. _Invisible_. The janitor was the murderer. It all made sense. "You're the murderer."

"I prefer the term manipulator," the janitor snarled. "I never laid a hand on any of them."

"Then how are they dead?" Teddy hissed. "You had to have forced them to take or consider taking the pills _somehow_. Did you point your wand at them?"

"Why don't you ask your little friend?" the man retorted, and Teddy spun to see Victoire in the doorway, her hand trembling as she pointed her wand.

"Theodore," she said evenly, but her voice shook just a bit, which was completely unexpected. "Theodore, get out of here."

"Victoire, I –" he started, but then realised he had no idea how to finish that. _I'm not leaving you? I don't want you to die? I care about you a lot more than I had originally thought_? None of that seemed sufficient, so instead he just shut his mouth.

"Go on, little Weasley," the man cackled, smirking at Victoire. "Explain."

Sighing, Victoire stepped forward, still pointing her wand directly at the murderer. She began to speak, so fast he could barely comprehend what she was saying. "The jar originally had two pills. He'd give it to them in the hallways, threaten them with a wand, tell them he was going to kill them. They had to take one and leave the other for him. Whichever one they took, he would take the other."

"And I'm still here, but one of your students is dead," he exclaimed gleefully. "You'd think those students wouldn't underestimate the power of Dark Magic. They learn about it every day in class."

"But yet, they're still clueless," Victoire reminded him, shaking her head. "Pity."

"And so are you," he snarled, lunging for Victoire. "Prepare to –"

Things happened in a rush then. The ugly, twisted man lunged for Victoire, Victoire ducked, pushing the door open, and a crowd of students and teachers flooded in. He shot a spell wildly, but one of the professors blocked it and seized him.

"Much obliged as always, Miss Weasley," the Headmaster told her with a smile. "We are very much in your debt."

"Obviously," Victoire stated pointedly, and then she seized Teddy's hand, dragging him out of the too crowded closet. Once they were out, she tilted her head. "You didn't think I would honestly let you go alone, did you?"

"I'll admit the possibility crossed my mind," he admitted, giving a small, surprised laugh.

"I'd be lost without my assistant," she told him with a broad, un-Victoire-like smile. And, just like a Gryffindor, he pulled her in for a hug. Though she was tense at first, she softened, placing her head against his chest.

–

After that, they were even more prominent within the school, and of course, fame came with a price. People were always coming them, asking them to solve stupid things like why their Mum was angry with them or if their pet goldfish had gone mad. Fortunately, Victoire could solve cases like those in just moments, so it wasn't _too _time-consuming.

They took on a few more 'major' cases, had a few more near death experiences, all of the things that Teddy had come to accept as normal. Everything was fine and peachy until Teddy's seventh year, when the two partners hit a bump in the road.

"Theodore, we have a case," Victoire announced, barging into the room where Teddy was kissing his (admittedly very hot) girlfriend.

Glancing up, Teddy groaned. "Can't you go on without me? I'll be there in just a moment."

"No, actually, I can't," Victoire grinned at his girlfriend, an evil smile, and then walked over to the two of them. "It's very important. I'm sure your little playtoy can wait."

The girl's jaw dropped. "Is that all I am to you? Your playtoy?"

"No, no – " Teddy began, but of course Victoire interrupted him. "Yes, of course, couldn't you tell? Now scurry along and go sob to your friends. Theodore and I have important work to do." She flipped her hair and stalked out of the room, Teddy following.

"I cannot believe you!" he said at last. "What are you _thinking_?"

"I'm thinking that we have a very important case, Theodore," she told him, raising an eyebrow. "Your little girlfriends are merely a distraction."

"Maybe they're important to _me_, Victoire," he hissed, crossing his arms. "Honestly, don't you ever think about me? You really should start."

"Who's to say I don't?" She lifted her eyes to stare at him at last, unfeeling, unblinking.

"Well then, you should start acting like it," he shot back, feeling tougher than ever before. Normally around her, he was cautious, scared that he would get something wrong and she would laugh, but now – _now _he was angry. "Honestly, you really should be grateful that I've stuck around. I'm one of the few people who even tolerates you."

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked as if she'd been stabbed. Darkly, she muttered, "So you're saying that you're doing me a _favour _by sticking with me because most people wouldn't?"

"Something to that effect, yes," Teddy retorted, his newly invoked seventh year status giving him the courage to talk back to Victoire Weasley at last.

"Maybe I was doing you a favour," she hissed. "You'll see."

He just watched her as she walked off. What the heck had he just done?

–

Life was boring without Victoire, he decided.

Most of his time was spent with his friends, who congratulated him for ditching the weirdo, playing Quidditch, or snogging girls. The problem with the girls was that they were so airheaded.

"Do you know if there are any Saturnians in the school?" one asked, her eyes bright.

"Saturn is a planet, so no, I doubt that," Teddy replied, biting back the Victoire-esque insults that sprung to mind.

The girl laughed. "I thought it was a country."

"Wouldn't doubt it," he muttered under his breath.

The worst part was that Victoire was right. She was always right. Life without her was boring, mundane, and horrible. He couldn't keep a girlfriend, possibly because every girl, every moment, every_thing_ reminded him of Victoire Weasley, the snarky little Ravenclaw who was constantly saving the school (and, mind you, she never asked for anything in return). Yes, she was annoying and made him want to pull out his _hair_ at times, but the thing was that he needed her more than he would like to admit. She was his more intelligent half, the person that (if he was being honest) he loved more than he could say.

The problem was that she didn't feel the same. After she'd had a few failed relationships, she'd told Teddy that she 'just wasn't feeling it anymore' and that she was done with love. Not to mention that the things he had said were horrible and completely uncalled for. She would probably never forgive him. Yes, Victoire Weasley knew how to hold a grudge.

So he avoided her the whole of seventh year, pretending that he was completely happy with the way his life was going, watching her solve case after case as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sometimes, he laughed at how much of an idiot he was.

–

It was at some point during the summer after seventh year that he realised he had to _do _something.

Sitting around wasn't doing him much good; he just thought of her and all he had lost. Sometimes he would take the Muggle gun that his grandmother attempted to hide and shoot holes in the wall. It was a mundane existence, and a melancholic one at that.

It hit him during one of his moping sessions that she was going off to school and he would not see her for at least another few months. That was when he made up his mind to go to the platform.

Harry was more than willing to take him, much to his delight, and Lily blabbered his ears off the whole way there, moping about how Albus and James were going to Hogwarts but she was going to be left behind. She only shut up when he offered to play with her while Albus and James were away, though he had a feeling he was going to end up regretting it.

Lily clung to his hand the whole way in the door, but he excused himself once they walked in, making the lame excuse that he had to go to the bathroom. Once they were gone, probably to make their way to Platform 9 ¾, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Thankfully, they were early, which gave him time to wander into one of those Muggle shops and buy a bouquet of flowers (he had a feeling that they'd added that in there to satisfy the perpetually late guys like himself). Once he was satisfied, he ran into the barrier between Nine and Ten, and then he was on the platform.

His eyes searched the platform and at last, they landed on a blonde-haired girl, standing with a smaller version of a blonde girl (oh yes, it was Dominique's first year at Hogwarts). He made his way through the crowds and grinned at the two of them. "Hello."

"Hello, Theodore," Victoire said coldly, but Dominique's greeting was a bit more warm ("Hey, Teddy.).

"I was hoping I could talk to you alone, Victoire?" he asked hopefully. To his relief, Victoire pushed Dominique out of the way, muttering for her to go find some group of Slytherins and sit with them. Then she stared at him. "You have a surprise for me, obviously. You want to make it up to me. You're sorry. I can see all of that just from looking at your eyes. Can't you at least _attempt_ to be mysterious?"

But her mouth curved up into a bit of a smile, and she stepped closer with a laugh. She placed her hands on his chest, gently still, and said quickly, "Kiss me already. I can see that you're dying to."

So he obliged, not even bothering to question how she knew. He kissed her as if the world was ending, holding her closer still. For someone who spent most of her time with books, she surely did know how to kiss, and he could only pull her closer. Nothing mattered in that moment but her.

That was, until James Potter shrieked from beside them, his face alight with mirth. "You're _snogging_ Victoire!" he crowed.

"Yeah," Teddy laughed, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. "That's kind of what you do when you get older, James."

"I can't wait to tell!" James sniggered, dashing away before either of them could stop them. Victoire's face was a lovely shade of red.

She scowled at Teddy's amused expression. "They are never going to let me live this down. I have been informing them for years that I am simply married to my work."

"Maybe I am your work," he laughed, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. "How'd you know?"

"How'd I know what?" she responded slowly, seeming quite distracted, which amused him all the more.

"How'd you know that I wanted to kiss you?" he demanded.

"Easy." She shook her head, as if to tell him that he really should know this by now. "All the signs were there. Dilated pupils, racing pulse – like I said, Theodore, you really should be more mysterious and at least _attempt _to control your emotions."

"You were right."

"I'm always right," she conceded, folding her arms in front of her.

"You are _not_," he countered, and when she cocked her head to the side, asking him to elaborate, he gave in. "Victoire, my name isn't Theodore."

"Your name isn't... Theodore?" Her eyes widened. He could tell that this shocked her beyond words.

"Nope," he replied, popping the 'p'. "It's Ted, actually, after my father. My grandmother called me Teddy because she thought it was cute, and I suppose it stuck."

"Oh," was all she got out. For a moment, she was silent, appearing to be lost in thought. Then she brightened. "Well, you know what? You are still Theodore to me. I'll just be the only one that calls you that."

He laughed and dipped down to kiss her again. Once they both pulled away, she told him sharply, "I'm going to miss you, you know. I have been a bit lost without my assistant."

"We'll meet up this summer and solve a few cases, right?" he questioned.

"Just this summer?" she replied, raising an eyebrow. "How about I become a private detective for the wizarding world? You could be my assistant."

"The only one in the Wizarding World," Teddy said, his voice dreamy, and he could tell by the look on Victoire's face that this pleased her more than she would like to admit.

That was just them – the girl who was never wrong, and the boy who was never right.


	24. runaway girl

******Title**: runaway girl

**Pairing:** Lucy/Lysander

**Author:** Jane (jaime-lannisters)

**For:** Zhie (Renzhie)

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><p><strong>warnings:<strong> beware of strong language and violent threats.

**message:** Hey, Zhie; this is for you! I just wanted to let you know that I legitimately adore you, and that you're my big sister and I am going to run away to a 1Direction concert with you. Granted, they'll probably have seventeen illegitimate children by the point I manage to escape NZ/my family, but it'll happen! I love you, babe - you're the Nate to my Cassie, and the Scorpius to my Rose/Lyra, after all. ;)

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><p>when i woke up alone, i had everything<br>a handful of moments i wish i could change  
>and a tongue like a nightmare that cut like a blade<br>in a city of fools, i was careful and cool  
>but they tore me apart like a hurricane<br>**- ****therapy ; all time low**

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><p><strong>i.<strong>

"If he loved me a little less, I might have stayed." The words are spoken with nonchalance and Lysander finds himself both surprised and unsurprised by the odd statement. Granted, it's not exactly the kind of thing one says into the silence of a cloudy night with no pre-emption whatsoever, and the tone used is hardly befitting of the relative seriousness of the topic, but it's Lucy, and she's always been a little bit backwards about her feelings.

He takes a moment to process her words as if it'd make a difference to his lack of understanding about them, and finds himself as well off as before he'd tried to think about them. "What do you mean, Luce?" he asks, and somehow his voice sounds wrong, as if he should have not spoken and just observed a conversation between Lucy and the empty night, but he always was a little bit rash.

She doesn't face him, just stays looking out ahead – at what, he isn't sure, though he doubts that whatever she's looking at is what she's seeing, and he doesn't know how that's possible but Lucy Weasley sort of defines the indefinable and that's an impossibility in itself, is it not? The cigarette in her fingers moves slightly, and he notices she's trembling, yet her voice gives away no evidence of her body doing so when she speaks. "He loved me too much, Lysander – I couldn't stay. If someone loves you like he loved me, you can't help but fall a little in love with them in return, and that isn't me, Lysander. I don't fall in love." She speaks calmly, without the tumultuous defiance that Rose has when she speaks or the angry bitterness that is always present in Dominique. Her voice is cool, indifferent even. He wonders if it should worry him that after being her best friend for fifteen years, this is the most she has ever disclosed to him about her feelings on the matter of love apart from the occasional swear word directed at an arrogant ex-boyfriend. He decides to ignore that for now.

"What do you do, then? What do you do if you don't fall in love?" he inquires, his own voice displaying a nonchalance he does not feel, depicting him as the indifferent man he cannot be. His blue eyes betray his inner feelings, the curiosity mingled with the insatiable desire to do something – to do what, he has no idea – and the fierce longing he feels for something he himself does not yet understand, but he feels confident that the turmoil will be unobserved, as she is still staring out at something only she can see.

She finally faces him this time, her lips curved into a half smile that should frighten him, but doesn't. Her eyes do, though. Their green has always seemed mysterious, but now they are impenetrable, with unfathomable depths. "I run," she says simply, and her eyes search his face, before she turns back to the thing he cannot see. "I run," she repeats quietly. "Far, far away."

**ii.**

Her words haunt him far more than he thinks they should. They are in his mind, her thoughts about love, and they replay in his head and ring in his mind until he feels the need to scream. He does not understand why he is reacting like this, and it terrifies him in ways he doesn't think he will ever begin to be able to comprehend. It occurs to him that her keeping her thoughts on love a secret for all those years was a kindness to him, and he wonders if he should be locked up for preferring a time when his best friend had never spoken those five sentences. He's afraid, too. He's a Gryffindor, born to die on his feet, and five sentences have him mentally cowering on his knees. It makes him want to cry, the way these five sentences have affected him far more than any words ever spoken to him in his life beforehand, and he doesn't understand why. They are not special sentences on their own; they do not resemble harbingers of death, or wraiths to sap courage – they are nothing of an essence, nothing to be afraid of on their own, but they are combined in a way he can't imagine they were ever combined before, and they mean something that breaks an essential part of him in a way he feels he will never truly discover and that is what scares the little Gryffindor prince more than anything.

His descent into despair is silent and desperate and makes no sense to anyone, least of all him. On the outside, he smiles and laughs and wears only his boxer shorts while he reads about dragons – because, they assume, he is Lysander Scamander, Gryffindor's prince, and he cannot be bothered to wear trousers, even with company such as Roxanne Weasley, famed artist, or Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

Lucy sees, though. She Apparates to his house one day and finds him staring at the ceiling in what anyone else would take for boredom, but she understands is loss. "You know what I've noticed? You don't smile anymore," she states after a while, her voice ringing in the hollowness of the room. He does not move from where he's lying on the couch, but they both feel the waves of tension rolling off of him.

"Yes, I do," he says simply, in a tone that would be argumentative if it didn't seem so defeated. It makes her sad, she realises, to observe the boy that always wanted to _do_ something reduced to only wanting for everything to leave him alone.

"Not really," she reminds him plaintively. "Not with your eyes. You smile, not because you're happy. It's like you smile because you think you need to, which is even more fucked up than Dominique's latest old-man-crush. You laugh even though you don't seem to find anything funny anymore. You hold books about dragons and your eyes watch the page, but you don't really see any of the words, let alone understand the meanings. You can't even be bothered to change into clothes anymore, because you're so weary of the world and you just want it all to stop," she presses, eyes blazing with tension and thoughts she's been needing to get off her chest for a while, and it's the most either of them have said for days.

He looks up at her this time, his blue eyes meeting her green. Everyone always said her eyes were the ones that made a person blink, but she isn't sure. His eyes are as endless as the universe, it seems, and only slightly more familiar, which takes her by surprise. His eyes had always been an energetic blue, filled with easily read emotions that showed how he wore his heart on his sleeve. Now they're guarded, and filled with conflict and weariness and an underlying pain that makes her want to hug him, something she's not done since he was fifteen and needed consoling after his grandfather Xeno had died. "What changed?" she asks with a weary sigh, even though she's sure that she knows the answer.

Silence. And then-

"I don't even know," he says quietly, his brow knitting in confusion. "I can't stop thinking about what you said that night, Lucy, that night on the roof of the Leaky. It's driving me mad, Luce, it's slowly driving me mad. I can't sleep, I can't eat, and I can't even write anymore goddamned poetry!" The volume of his voice rises as he speaks on, and he ends on an almost shout.

She observes him for a moment, the tall boy with blue eyes and a spirit broken by something he doesn't understand and she hasn't tried to. She moves towards him and sits at his side, leaning against the couch in such a way that her head falls onto his stomach if she tilts it backwards. "Forget it," she tells him brusquely, twisting her head slightly to face his. "Forget about what I said. Be happy again, Ly, because you're not yourself, anyone can see that. Lorcan's out of his mind with worry, and the rest of them know something's up, but they don't know what it is. Most people don't notice, yeah, but most people don't know you. Lorcan, however, does. I do. Lily and Rose and the rest of my family do. The Longbottoms do, and so do the Smiths. Fucking hell, even _Scorpius_ has noticed something's up, and it's a bloody miracle if he notices anything other than what that fuck Rose is doing to his plants. We know you, Lysander, and don't forget it. Forget what I said, because it's not important. It doesn't even fucking _matter_, okay? Nothing I have ever said changes the fact that you're my best friend, even if you're not acting like him right now. I miss my best friend, Lysander, so you better do something about it."

He opens his mouth, and then closes it, evidently unsure of what to say. They watch each other for a long moment, and he finally breaks the silence. "What if I can't?"

"Then I guess I'll never see the real Lysander Scamander again," she says with a shrug. "Sad. I liked that kid. If you ever find him, tell him to Floo me, yeah?" And with that, she vacates her position on the floor and walks out the door. She doesn't know where she's going, but she doesn't care. All she knows is that until her best friend is himself again, it is not back there.

**iii.**

The music is loud. She can't help but notice that, even in her less than sober state. The music is loud, the people are loud, everything around her is loud but she thinks the world is silent. She stumbles out of Lily's house and falls onto the grass that surrounds the porch. The world spins as she rolls onto her back, and looks up at the sky. There are no clouds tonight – instead, each star twinkles brightly in what she feels like is a superbly orchestrated effort to show each other up. Why stars would wish to show each other up, she has no idea, except that they're stars and why shouldn't they be allowed to? Who could ever stop them from being the best they could be if they wanted it enough?

As she ponders this somewhat strange train of thought, a shadow looms beside her and she looks up to see Lysander frowning down at her. She giggles. "Why so serious?" she hisses, in a terrible impersonation of the Joker from the Muggle film she'd watched once with Lily and the twins, The Dark Knight. Lucy Weasley may be many things, but a respectable drunk is not one of them. He rolls his eyes at her, but he smiles a bit anyway, and she claps in delight. "Come sit next to me," she commands, patting the grass next to her.

He rolls his eyes again, but sits anyway. "The grass is wet," he complains, but he doesn't really mind. He just wants something to say that doesn't involve the weather. She frowns at him.

"Stop being such a pansy," she commands. "The grass is wet because it is alive," she continues, in a satisfied sort of tone. Why she would be satisfied with that sort of logic, he has no idea, but drunken Lucy always made less sense than normal Lucy, if that was possible.

"You're drunk," he says in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. She nods. It's rather obvious, he reflects, but it's hardly as if Lucy is in any shape to start mocking him lightly about pointing out the obvious.

"You're here," she says, in an equally matter-of-fact tone of voice, though he supposes her comment is more justified, as she is far more likely to be drunk than he is to be sitting next to Lucy Weasley on the cold, wet grass outside her cousin's house on his dead grandfather's birthday after three months of not speaking to her.

"I suppose I am," he replies. He doesn't know why he's there, except that today reminds him of his grandfather and he misses him like he hasn't missed him in a _long_ time, since when he died and Lucy hugged him when they were fifteen, and he just really fucking needs Lucy right now, okay?

She cocks her head to the side and studies him, and he has the uncomfortable feeling that she's seeing everything about him and passing judgement on him. He knows it's ridiculous – for one, Lucy Weasley is not a Legilimens and he's certain that even if she was, she'd be utterly incapable of performing Legilimency on him whilst drunk, and secondly, she's known him since they were six and he'd come home from Africa after living there all his life, and there's nothing left of him to judge after fifteen years of being best friends and seventeen years of knowing one another – but he still feels like she is. "You're lonely," she observes and he wants to protest but he knows he can't, because even when she's drunk, Lucy does not take kindly to being lied to.

"Little bit," he agrees with a rueful smile. He misses everything, he's startled to realise. He misses the way she challenges everything about him, and the way she acts when she's drunk. He misses the way she sees everything for what it is, and her piercing wit and humour. He misses her Slytherin tendencies, even the ones that make him want to rip out his hair in frustration, and he misses the strange things she does and says. He misses everything else in the world, but most of all, he misses her, and the way she makes him feel.

"That's okay," she tells him with a tired kind of sigh. "I'm lonely too. We can be lonely together," she says, in her stubborn way, despite the sudden sleepiness he can hear in her tone. She leans against him, and rests her head on his shoulder. He lays his head on hers, and she fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, and he can't help but feel like it means something, though he cannot articulate what.

"I'd like that," he says in reply to her statement, hours after she's fallen asleep and the noise from the house has died. She can't hear him, he knows, but the stars will bear witness to his testimony.

**iv.**

"Dom's annoyed at you," Lorcan says to his brother one day as he leafs through his copy of the Quibbler. Lysander looks up at his brother in surprise, discarding the tattered yellow notebook he was hunched over into his laundry basket.

"What on earth for?" he asks, bemusement plain as day on his handsome features. He hasn't done anything to annoy Dominique, to the best of his knowledge – in fact, the last time he spoke to her was a month ago, he believes.

Lorcan shrugs. "Something about you not having asked out Rose yet," he adds, seeing his brother's even more confused expression. "The girl's mental, if you ask me."

Lysander shudders slightly. "Don't get me wrong, I love Rose to death and all, but she's not exactly the easiest to get along with _and_ she's abusive in her affection, so I shudder to think about what state I'd be in after a month in a relationship like that."

Lorcan laughs. "She's not _that_ violent," he says, before catching Lysander's look. Thinking about it some more, Lorcan shakes his head slightly and amends, "Okay. Maybe she's a _little_ violent."

"Understatement of the century," Lysander mutters, before glancing at his brother in more confusion. "Hang on, how did you know that Dom's mad at me? More to the point, how did you know _why_?"

Lorcan shrugs. "I spend half my time at Lily's house nowadays. Last time I was there, Dominique stormed in, ready to rant to Lily about something, saw me, and spent the next three hours abusing _my_ poor ears instead," he complains, glaring at his brother. "She dedicated a whole hour on insulting your idiocy for not dating Rose – though _why_ she would choose you for that, I have no idea – as well as Scorpius' idiocy for fancying Rose, and Rose for not dating you!"

Lysander groans. "But why does she want Scorpius to get over Rose in the first place?" he asks, completely bewildered. He will never admit it, he thinks privately, but Rose and Scorpius would be very cute – in an abusive, wild animal kind of way. As soon as the thought passes his mind, he wishes to scourgify his brain and check that his bollocks are still in place, but he fortunately keeps in mind that his brother may be a tad concerned to see his brother pointing a wand to his head, let alone peering down his pants during a brotherly conversation.

Lorcan stares at his brother like he's suddenly grown a fourth head. "God, you really are that thick, aren't you?" he says in disbelief, sounding so much like Lily that it hurts Lysander's head. He likes Lily, truly, but _Merlin_, he likes his brother far more, and he rather wishes that Lorcan could retain a semblance of his own self. Oblivious to Lysander's thoughts, Lorcan continues, "It's because she fancies herself in love with him, of course! Come on Ly, sharpen up! I know you've got a brain, somewhere in there – use it, yeah?"

This is far too much for Lysander. Head spinning, he tries to formulate some sort of witty reply to that. The best he can come up with is "What?" Spotting Lorcan's supercilious expression, Lysander hastily tacks on, "I thought Dom was gay! Or, y'know, obsessed with older men!" before inwardly face-palming. He honestly can't believe that he just said that, and, judging from Lorcan's expression, his brother is shocked as well.

"Unless you feel like telling Scorpius he's a bird or middle-aged, I wouldn't mention that," Lorcan finally says drily. Lysander flushes slightly around the collar, but makes no sound. "I think she's bi, actually," Lorcan muses aloud, his expression thoughtful. Glancing at his brother, he adds, "Not that it makes a difference, really – until she finds someone, she's going to be hooked on Scorpius forever, and let's face it, that is a less than ideal outcome."

Lysander simply groans. "These Weasley-Potters are going to be the death of us, you know that, right?" he checks with his brother, who simply nods his assent. Lysander leans backwards and tilts his chair onto the table, so the table supports him. "I swear they weren't this mad when we were younger – when did they all get so fucking crazy?" he moans to the ceiling.

Lorcan raises an eyebrow. "Probably when they lost their respective virginities," he supplied, before cocking his head to the side. "Explains why Rose is so fucking mental, anyway."

Lysander feels that he is doing the right thing when he throws a pillow at Lorcan in response.

**v.**

"MOVE OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY, YOU STUPID, BLOODY MOTHERFU-"

James stares in amusement as his younger cousin shouts obscenities at their cousin Fred. Fred, who seems unscathed apart from a shake in his shoulders – whether it is due to silent laughter or genuine fear of Lucy, James cannot tell – makes his way over to where James is leaning against the bench top, sipping a glass of butterbeer.

"What the bloody hell is up with Lucy?" Fred demands, reaching behind his languid companion to grab a glass of butterbeer off of the bench top, before taking a sip. He swills it for a second, before giving James a questioning look, as if to prompt him into answering.

"She's annoyed," Hugo puts in helpfully, coming down the stairs into the kitchen. Fred and James turn to give him a stare that seems to drip sarcasm.

"Yes, well, I'd gathered that much," Fred points out irritably, wondering not for the first time if his young cousin was mentally stunted, and if that meant they should stop pranking the curly haired boy. Dismissing the idea of ever ceasing to prank Hugo, he presses, "_Why_ is she annoyed?"

Albus, accompanied by his partner in crime, Rose, walks in just in time to hear Fred's question. As Rose picks up a glass of butterbeer and drains half of it, Albus supplies, "Maybe she's PMS-ing? Merlin knows _that_ one," he indicates Rose with a casual jerk of his thumb, momentarily bringing attention to the fact that she is now pouring vodka into her half-full glass of butterbeer, "claims to be PMS-ing enough."

Rose, who by this point is mixing her concoction with a obscenely bright pink lollipop, gives Albus the finger and glares at all the boys present. "Fuck up, Albus, before I heat this up and pour it down your trousers. _Then_ we'll see if Molly's damned anti-climate-change underpants or whatever the fuck she got you for Christmas actually work," she informs him, with a sweet smile that somehow makes her look more menacing.

Albus throws up his hands in defeat, asking the heavens, "Why are we friends again?"

James rolls his eyes at his brother's antics, before reaching over him to mess with Rose's hair – a dangerous move, especially considering the petite redhead is already annoyed, but he does it anyway. "Because you love her, and she's the only one who'll put up with you long enough to call you a friend," he answers fairly.

Albus scowls and flips off his brother while Rose just shakes her head and takes a swig of her own mixed cocktail. "Fuck off, Jimmy-dearest," Albus says, before leaving the kitchen, Rose trailing with her drink in one hand, and a cigarette that she's somehow acquired in the other.

Fred shakes his head and looks at Hugo and James. "They're both fucking mental, mate," he says, leaning his arm on James' shoulder as the hazel-eyed boy nods in agreement.

Something evidently occurs to James at that moment, because he frowns slightly and turns to face Fred. "Oi, when Luce was shouting at you, how the actual fuck did you get her to shut up?" he demands, puzzlement obvious on his handsome features.

Fred grins, reminding both James and Hugo of an old fox. "Why, Jimmy, old chap," Fred begins with a self-satisfied grin, "I silenced her, of course. Seems to have done the trick," he finishes with a self-satisfied smirk present upon his elfin features.

"-CKER, I WILL GET YOU FOR THIS FRED FUCKING PERCIVAL WEASLEY, DO YOU HEAR ME? I WILL GET YOU!"

James chuckles at Fred's suddenly frightened expression. "Yeah. Really did the trick," he laughs, before dodging an irritated punch aimed at his gut. "Oi, fuck off!" James says, grinning madly. "You need to run, after all!" And with that, Fred Weasley heads off upstairs, a furious little Lucy Weasley hot on his heels.

**vi.**

"Uh, hi, this is Lysander, and I'm – hey, is this thing on? Lorcan, are you _sure_ this is the right way to do it? Last time we did something the way you wanted, we ended up with turnips on our arses. You're definitely sure? And it's on? Well, why didn't you _say_ so? Urgh. Anyway, my starry-eyed fans – ow! _Fuck_, Lucy, that hurt – I'm Lysander, and I live with Lorcan. He's my brother, and less awesome than me. Lorcan says to talk after the beep, no idea what the hell that's meant to b-"

__

"Oi, Lysander, get your arse down here, stat! _Everyone's_ waiting for you, you absolute tosser! Honestly, mate, if you're going to RSVP to one of _Maman's_ soirees, then you're kind of expected to turn up! Jesus Christ, Ly, you'll be the death of me, I swear."

"Lysander fucking Scamander. If you do not get the fuck down here, Aunt Fleur will _literally_ sacrifice Hugo to Merlin in an attempt to appease him for not having a fucking fantastic soiree – measures she thinks are necessary _only_ because _you_haven't shown up! – and Lucy will probably eat Fred's liver. HIS FUCKING LIVER, LYSANDER. I don't know about you, but I prefer it when the Minister of Magic has assistants that ACTUALLY HAVE ALL THEIR ORGANS IN PLACE. So do the world a fucking favour, and get your arse down here before Al and I actually physically come and fucking drag you."

"Lysander, where are you? Louis is muttering about you being a tosser and Rose has informed me that she will make me move and get you if you don't hurry up. I have _perfect_ view of one of Dom's cousins' cleavage from where I am, and James is eyeing my seat, which I don't want to give up, so please hurry the fuck up and get your arse here before Rose decides to get me up, or worse, tries something stupid like _Accio_-ing you here!"

"Oi, Scamander, get down here. Luce is ready to castrate a house elf, and you need to calm her down. She won't listen to us, mate. By the way, that Finnigan chick you dated at Hogwarts… you're over her, yeah? Sweet."

**vii.**

He finds her by Dobby's grave, like he thought he would. He Apparates to a part of the beach that is at least a hundred metres away from Shell Cottage, and he walks along the sand, feeling it run through his toes. He sees her sitting there, but his pace does not change. When he arrives, he simply sits next to her and she rests her head on his shoulder as they watch the sea. "I suppose Fred's liver is still intact?" he asks, more from want of something to say than genuine curiosity, despite the fact that a small part of him is semi-concerned about a possible descent of hers into cannibalistic values.

He feels her laughter rumble through her small frame and pulse through his larger one. "I suppose you've been talking to my relatives," she says with a chuckle. He shrugs.

"Not really," he says. "I just heard Rose's message say something about a liver when I was Apparating from the house. I didn't really listen to any of the messages – I knew they wouldn't be from you, anyway," he informs her, tucking back a lock of thick hair behind her ear.

She looks up at him, green eyes searching his face. "How did you know?" she asks, her tone slightly curious. Her white fingers deftly grasp a handful of sand as they curl into a fist-grip, and then they release the sand and she watches as the sand is blown away by the wind, before she repeats the action again and again.

He shrugs. "You don't need to call me," he says quietly. "You never have, really. I've always found you, even without you calling me." Besides, he knows she doesn't have a phone, but he feels like saying that will somehow ruin what he just said.

She slowly nods, and fixes her eyes on Dobby's grave. 'HERE LIES DOBBY' the caption read, 'A FREE ELF'. "I wish I was free," she says softly.

Lysander looks down at her, and watches her look at the grave. "What do you mean, Luce? Aren't you free?" he asks, his questions equally meant to probe to make her do something as they are to satiate his curiosity.

She moves away from him then; she's not angry, he knows, but he can see that she's tense. She stands, and walks closer to the grave, before sitting next to it and turning to face him. "I am not _free_," she says bitterly. "I am a puppet. I am the _pretty little thing_ training to be a Curse Breaker that all the trainers think is cute. I am the lonely girl that gets drunk at parties and sits on the sidewalk. I am the runaway girl that escapes any situation where I might actually care about someone more than myself. I am anything the world makes me, except simply Lucy. I am not free," she tells him. "I want to be free," she whispers.

He thinks that in that moment alone, he could stand before Lucy Weasley and tell her that she is, without a doubt, the best thing the world could make her, but he's Lysander Scamander, Gryffindor's prince, and he doesn't know how to put his thoughts into words without writing them down, so he doesn't. The only thing he can think of is that night outside Lily's house, and so he says the only thing he can, "I'll be lonely with you."

Something changes in that moment – he can feel it, she can feel it and he has a feeling the world can feel it too. She gives him a beautiful smile that dazzles him and frightens him in equal measure, and he lies down onto the sandy beach and she comes to join him, resting her head on his chest, and he can't help but feel like she could be the best thing to ever happen to this world, but this world is the worst thing that could ever happen to her.

**viii.**

It soon occurs to him that she's the most beautiful thing he's ever known. Lucy Weasley is a runaway girl, a lonely girl, a girl who wants to be free, a girl who wants to be simply Lucy, a girl with mood-swings and a foul temper to match an even fouler mouth, a girl with days when she's smiling, and days when she's angry and vengeful and just wants to burn the world down, and days when she just cannot comprehend that she could mean anything to anyone. She is a girl afraid to love, a girl that doesn't know her own worth. She is Lucy Weasley, and she is exquisite in her brokenness.

She is a broken girl, a feisty girl, a girl who was born to fly with wings formed of pure spirit, and he can't help but think he sees her as she truly is.

**ix.**

The whispers start. They twist and turn and swirl around them, and every beast Lysander has ever tried to capture have been tangible, but trying to fight rumours with force is as easy as attempting to slay smoke with a sword.

At first, it is only Lorcan, and he teases Lysander in the privacy of their own home where nobody can overhear. He makes snide comments but Lysander refuses to listen, refuses to let some words of jest ruin his relationship with Lucy because,_God_, he doesn't know what they are anymore, and he sure as hell can't define it but he knows it defines him and that's enough to make him to vow to hold onto it until the end of his days.

And he feels like he's groping around the world in the dark and it's all silent, _oh, God, it's so silent_ and he can't help but want to scream because he doesn't understand anything that he's felt since that night on the roof and _GOD WHY DOES SHE AFFECT HIM SO MUCH_?

He doesn't understand why her words make him feel so much, why he finds himself wandering to her apartment in the dead of the night, why he wakes up in cold sweats, imagining that she's actually done something to make her a lonely girl, that she's severed all ties with him and that she's gone from him, gone from them all, run away from everything and oh god, he's never been so scared as he is in those nightmares, because this Gryffindor prince isn't as brave as he was at the start, as he was before Lucy Weasley told him that she had an unfortunate tendency to run away.

**x.**

He doesn't see her for a week, until he's looking for Albus and nearly trods on her sleeping form. His foot still nudges her, and she moans sleepily. "Wotcher, Ly," she says, fatigue clear in her voice as she rubs at her eyes.

He stares for a second, before snapping to attention. "Lucy, why are you sleeping on Albus' floor?" he asks her. "You have a _house_."

"Actually, I don't. The lease ran out two weeks ago," she informs him, before stiffening slightly, as if just realising what she's said. Lysander does the arithmetic in his head – he was always quite good at Lily's Arithmancy homework – and realises that she's been homeless for a whole week before her Aunt's soiree.

He stares at her with annoyance. "So you begged for a spot on Al's floor?" he asks, incredulous. There are a million thoughts running through his mind right now, the loudest being _I COULD HAVE GIVEN YOU A FUCKING BED, LUCY._

She shrugs. "Nah," she says, flipping her hair slightly. "I've basically just hung around other peoples' places and just whacked it out on their couch because it's 'too late' to go home, and I'm 'too drunk'." She snorts as if the idea of Lucy Weasley being _too drunk_ is laughable. Which, he supposes, to her, it is.

"You should've stayed with me, you muppet," he points out, his tone softening.

She blinks up at him. "What, and crash the bachelor-shag-pad?" she jokes wryly, smirking up at him. Where she got the idea that he had a _bachelor-shag-pad_ from, he had no idea, but any protests he could have made died in his throat at the sight of Albus, who had just descended the staircase and entered the room.

"Albus… why is your shirt covered in lipstick?" Lucy asks, obviously amused.

Al slowly swivels around, and turns starkly pale at the sight of the two. "Oh, _shit_," he mumbles, glaring at the floor. Lysander exchanges a surprised glance with Lucy. Albus Potter is many things, but he is especially arrogant. He never _mumbles_; he is proud of who he is and has absolutely no qualms about cutting people down. He never does anything halfway, and he always speaks with confidence. He also never feels bashful about his conquests, which is why Lysander is surprised as to his reaction to be caught covered in lipstick.

A second passes. Then-

"What the _fuck_?"

Lysander, Lucy and Albus all turn to face the stairs. A second later, a girl stumbles down the stairwell.

Not just any girl.

Cassie Lewis, Gryffindor's prize seeker against Al's position as Slytherin prize seeker, and each other's most bitter adversary throughout school.

Also, James' ex-girlfriend and one of Rose's best friends.

Lysander's jaw drops. Audibly. Albus closes his eyes as if preparing for the beating of his life. And Lucy? Lucy _laughs_.

"Well, this is a turn out for the books," she says, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Cassie ignores the younger girl, and storms up to Albus. "What the fuck happened last night? I swear, if you don't start talking-" she cut herself off, looking pointedly down at his crotch. His eyes widen at the threat, and he stammers, "Oh- okay."

Lucy and Lysander exchange yet another surprised glance. A stammering Albus? This is incredibly uncharacteristic.

Cassie glances at the pair, and smiles. "Hey, Lucy. Hey, 'Sander. Excuse us for a second," she says sweetly, before dragging Albus into the kitchen.

Screams are heard a second later.

Lysander blushes at the words that they're using – though they do seem to mainly be erupting from the Gryffindor – and he raises his wand to cast an Impenetrable Charm, but Lucy beats him to it. "_Muffliato_," she whispers, and suddenly they can't hear anything. He quirks up an eyebrow in question, and she shrugs. "Something Rose taught me in fourth year," she answers.

Lysander nods. "Ah," he says. The mention of Rose reminds him of his conversation with Lorcan. "Did you know that Dom wants me to ask out Rose?" he blurts out, and regrets it a second later.

Lucy's eyes flash, and she whips her hair over her shoulder – a tell-tale sign that she's livid. "Oh?" she asks in a controlled voice. "And what are your feelings on the matter?"

He shrugs. "Well, uh, Rose is great, and all… but no. Never going to happen. Ever," he says, hoping beyond hope that she doesn't imagine him with Rose as well – he doesn't think he could handle that. He's not sure why, really, but it'd hurt too much if Lucy thought he ought to be with Rose.

He watches Lucy's stance relax slightly, and a small smile plays at her lips. "Good," she states. "We wouldn't want Scorpius to try kill you, would we?" she tacks on, smirking. His heart plummets into his stomach and he feels like he's suffocating. He can't believe he actually let himself hope for a second that she didn't want him with Rose for a reason to do with _them_, not Rose and Scorpius. He blinks, and his mouth feels dry. His eyes are stinging and he realises, horrified, that he's going to _cry_.

"Uh, well, Al's clearly busy and I only came around to borrow the cloak, so…" he trails off, rubbing his eye a little. "I think I got something in my eye. A – a Wrackspurt, most likely," he explains in a mutter, not even looking at her. "Albus is quite obviously busy, so I'm just going to… go," he tells her, still not looking at her. He breathes in deeply, and turns to her. She's looking at him, her head cocked to the side and her eyes betraying her hurt and confusion. He commits this image of her to memory, right down to the mismatched, threadbare socks and the lopsided _Rolling Stones _tee. He promises himself that this is Lucy, and she doesn't care about _them_ and what they might have been, and that's what he thinks as he Apparates away.

**xi.**

Days pass.

Weeks, even.

Lily comes to visit him one day. "You're a – a – a cabbage!" she wails, glaring at him. He raises an eyebrow. Clearly, despite her cousins, she hasn't mastered the art of insulting people she cares about yet. She scowls. "No! You don't get to judge me! You're the cabbage that's blanking your best friend!" she yells. A raging Lily Luna Potter would once have scared him, he thinks, but no longer. He's detached from everything, and especially from this screaming petite redhead that doesn't know what the _fuck_ she's talking about.

"Lily," he interrupts, and she stops suddenly, derailed. "Please go away," he continues, pinching the bridge of his nose.

For once in her life, she does.

**xii.**

Roxanne's next, accompanied by Molly.

"Wanker," Roxanne informs him as she tumbles out of the fireplace with a grace he's always envied. Molly walks out primly behind her, her hands flying up to her mouth at her cousin's words.

"Roxanne Alicia Weasley! Don't be so crude!" she admonishes, pretending not to see her cousin flipping her off.

Lysander watches, bemused. He'd just been in the shower and had only just managed to sling a towel around his waist before running to the fireplace when he'd heard his Floo-bell go off. He's not sure why they're here – well, he knows why they're here, just not why they're here _together_. Roxanne's a tomboy, who regularly bewitches men with her knowledge of cars, pranks and broomsticks, and spends more time with an easel than sleeping. Molly's a blonde, with big blue eyes and she wears her heart on her sleeve. She's sweet and sugary and believes that one day, she'll marry her Prince Charming and he'll sweep her off her feet. The only cousin that she could be more different to would be Rose.

Roxanne zeroes in on his expression. "Oi, Sandman, what the hell do you think you're doing?" she demands. It would be sound far more fierce if she hadn't slipped back into using her nickname for him.

Lysander shrugs. "Well, I was showering," he offers, not exactly caring about what they could do to him.

Molly purses her lips. "Someone's gotten an attitude," she mumbles to her cousin. Lysander watches the exchange openly, and finds himself agreeing. Somehow, he's acting more like Lucy now than he ever did when they spent all their time together.

"Look, why are you here?" he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Roxanne stares. Molly opens her mouth, no doubt to put in some insipid comment about friendship being for life and family sticking up for their own, but Roxanne stops her. "Molly, be quiet," she orders authoritatively, before looking at Lysander. "Come on, Sandman, you know why we're here. You're not yourself, and you know it. Lucy isn't, either. You guys are best friends. I don't know what's up with you two, but whatever it is, it's not worth your friendship. Nothing is. Right?" she says softly. She waits, before turning to Molly with a sigh. "Come on, princess. Let's go to Fortescue's; I could use an ice-cream, and apparently Louis' newest crush works there. We can go check her out," she tells her cousin, before pulling her away through the Floo.

Lysander lies down, and thinks about her words. _It's not worth your friendship. Nothing is_. He shakes his head, suddenly angry and completely and utterly _not_ detached. There are things worth their friendship, he thinks. One of them being the fact that he loves her more than anything in the whole fucking world and she doesn't even care-

Wait. He _loves_ her.

"I love you."

He tastes the words on his tongue. They feel… right.

"I love you, Lucy May Weasley. I love you more than anything. I fucking love you… and you don't even care."

He deflates suddenly. This is _worse_, he realises. It was better when he didn't know what to call it because now he knows what to call his feelings and now he knows how hopeless it is. It's completely hopeless because he knows she doesn't care for him like that because of what she said that day at Al's house and because of what she said on the rooftop of the Leaky Cauldron, because if there's one thing Lucy's ever been adamant about in his memory, it's that she doesn't _do_ love.

That is the moment he gives up on Lucy Weasley.

**xiii.**

He's walking down the street one day, when he sees Rose Weasley. It's been three months since he talked to Lucy, and ever since he stopped talking to her relatives, too. The only people he ever seems to talk to nowadays are his Mum, Dad and Marlene Longbottom, who has been crushing on Louis Weasley forever, and understands how he feels without even having to put it into words.

Rose is laughing, and her head is thrown back, her red hair streaming down her back. It's been so long since he saw her laugh, and for the first time ever, he understands that Rose Weasley isn't just gorgeous, she's beautiful, too.

She turns from her companion, and sees him. He can see her green eyes widen from here, and he's struck with a sorrow because, dammit, she really looks like Lucy at times.

She whispers to her companion – who seems strangely familiar to Lysander – and leaves him to walk towards Lysander. "Hey, 'Sander," she says softly, which is a first because Rose Weasley doesn't _do_ soft.

"Hey, Rose. Long time, no see," he tries to joke. He watches her twirl her hair around her finger, and then she sighs.

"Look, 'Sander. Shit went down with you and Lucy, yeah. Don't bother," she adds, when he opens his mouth to fob her off. "She got drunk and told me all she knew, which wasn't much. Seems to me like you're both a bit scared of shit. Can't talk, really. Took me about five years to think of Scorp romantically, and another ten to agree to a date," she says wryly. His eyes widen when he realises what this means.

"You're with Scorpius, now?" he asks, his face splitting into a smile. He's surprised to find himself honest-to-God _happy_ for her – he hasn't felt happy in so long, and now it's because the scariest bird he's ever met has finally agreed to a date with her best friend. He supposes his all-encompassing sorrow wasn't so all-encompassing, after all.

She grins at him, and nods. "Yeah. Took me a while, him being my best friend and all," she says, and if Lysander isn't mistaken, her voice is hinting at something.

He sighs. "Lucy and I aren't you and Scorpius, Rose," he says firmly, feeling slightly wistful.

"Of course not," the redhead snorts. "As if there could ever be anyone _quite_ like Scorp and myself," she continues with a smirk. Her green eyes turn serious, and she looks him in the eyes. "She misses you, though. She's changed – something about a visual poetic fuck you," she informs him, looking wry.

He blanches. He'd once written a poem about a girl he used to date; she'd cheated on him, and he'd been angry, but not as hurt as the next year, when she'd shown up to school with dyed black hair and tattoos and slept around – and so he'd written a poem about her and shown Lucy. "There's something about the way a girl you used to know moves, the way everything about her changes so she's a visual fuck you," he quotes, and looks at Rose.

"Well, she's definitely changed visually," Rose mutters. "She walks around in fitted jackets and dresses like she's fucking _Molly_ and everything about her is immaculate, including her make-up and her _hair_," she trails off, before glancing up at him. "She dyed her hair," she tells him morosely. "It's the same colour as my Mum's now."

Lysander gapes because, fucking hell, a brown-haired, immaculate Lucy that dresses like her sister is not Lucy; she's just some girl in the middle of the crowd that doesn't actually mean anything to anyone. Not like Lucy Weasley does. "Wh-" he begins, but Rose cuts him off.

"Lysander Scamander. You are _not_ going to ask me why or anything asinine like that. You know fucking why," she orders imperiously, and Lysander feels completely and utterly _schooled_.

"Um. Okay," he finishes lamely. He smiles. "It was nice seeing you again, Rose," he says placidly, before moving back, "but I really must be off. Journals to burn, and notes to send, you know."

And with that, he Apparates off, and leaves Rose alone on a sidewalk.

**xiv.**

_Lucy,_

_I know that you don't do love. I know that you're scared._

_But think about it, Lucy. You've been "doing" love your whole life. You love your family, and your friends, and your pets and even people you've never met! You love more than anyone else I've ever met, especially considering you don't "do" love._

_I guess I'm trying to make you see that you love every day, and you don't run away._

_I think I'm hoping that realisation will stop you from running away again._

_Because, Luce, I love you._

_I fucking __adore__ you. Not just as a best friend, or anything – but actual, goddamn __love__._

_And, y'know, I'm no expert in love. Years of poetry scrawled into fading journals doesn't make me an expert on the subject. But it makes sense – I've always loved you as a mate, and it just kind of… progressed._

_I won't blame you if you don't feel the same – I know I'm asking a lot here._

_Just… I just need to know. If you feel the same way. If you could ever feel the same way._

_Because, Merlin, Luce, you have no idea how much it hurts me at times, and I __know__ it's worth it, no matter what, but I don't want to take it out on people anymore._

_I want to be Lysander again._

_Just… tell me in some way I'll understand._

_Please._

_Lysander_

**xv.**

He sends it off with a tawny owl that's bigger than his arm and he watches as Sarsaparilla flies off into the night sky.

Somewhere out there, a green eyed girl is lying to herself and pretending to be someone else.

**xvi.**

She looks at the window; Sarsaparilla is tapping at her window. She freezes, and then she's suddenly tearing the latch off the window and bringing the bird in.

She takes comfort in the familiar scrawl that says her name, and she breathes it in, and, _fuck_, it's an unbearably Lysander smell and she thinks she could die happy right now-

And then she reads the letter.

And rereads it.

And again once more.

She drops the letter onto her desk and paces furiously, thinking hard. She overrides the pressing urge to run, and get away from those words because for someone who never claimed to be good at poetry, Lysander had a way with words that sure pulled on her heartstrings.

She pauses, and a split-second decision is reached. She summons a satchel from beneath her bed that is deceptively light and peers inside. Groping amongst the clothes and – was that the _tent_? – books, she pulls out a quill.

Biting her lip, she writes a series of numbers onto the piece of parchment that she keeps by her desk, and she smiles. She is sure she's chosen correctly.

She tucks Lysander's letter into her bra, and then-

She's gone.

**xvii.**

It takes a few days, but then it's confirmed.

Lucy Weasley has indeed run away.

Lysander drinks his alcohol in a corner of a bar, thinking bitter thoughts as he swills his drink. He _had_ asked her for a sign he'd understand – somehow, knowing she loved him, or thought she could, wasn't much of a relief when she was Merlin-knows-where.

He loves the girl, and she runs away.

How absolutely _fucked up_ can his love life become before he-

His thought is cut off midway because a slender white hand strokes his chest. He looks up, alarmed – is he being molested? – and only sees a familiar swish of red hair before the slender form disappears. He's about to call out her name, when it strikes him that she stroked his pocket.

Shaking his head, he delves in and peers at the parchment Rose slipped in. His breath hitches. It's in Lucy's slanting scrawl, and he thinks he may pass out with anticipation.

He opens it, and reads the contents of the parchment.

And rereads it.

And again once more.

His mouth curves into a smile, and he feels like whooping for joy because Lucy's run away, but she's letting him find her-

He looks back at the parchment, and commits the numbers to memory.

_Co-ordinates._

And before anyone can blink, Lysander Scamander has gone. And none of them know it, but he's off on an adventure.

An adventure to chase the runaway girl.


End file.
